


Wise Men Flatt'ring

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-27
Updated: 2007-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: On a dangerous mission with Malcolm, Trip learns the hard way that magic charms cannot heal a wounded heart. Post Terra Prime, happily ignoring TATV





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

Â§ 1 Â§

When Malcolm put his head inside the shuttlepod, Trip was already there, busy doing pre-flight checks.

â€œCommander,â€ he greeted, automatically going into professional gear. Smirking, he tried to convince himself that the unconscious choice had been dictated by their imminent mission, rather than by the withdrawn mood in which Trip had fallen since his daughterâ€™s death, a few weeks before. 

Trip, indeed, barely spared him a glance and a nod, silently turning back to the piloting console. With an inward sigh, Malcolm stepped inside and went about his own business, checking supplies and the weaponsâ€™ array. They worked side by side for nearly twenty minutes, but they might just as well have been on different worlds. And this estrangement of sorts, after four years of sharing with this man more than he had shared with his own family in a lifetime, didnâ€™t sit well with him.

â€œEverything is fine, as far as Iâ€™m concerned,â€ Malcolm finally said, swivelling in his chair to face the Engineer. He had to wait long seconds before his words were acknowledged. 

â€œAlright,â€ Trip eventually said, stopping what he was doing and turning. â€œIâ€™ll need another ten minutes.â€ He glanced at the time, then back at Malcolm. â€œDeparture in half an hour. Wouldnâ€™t mind if you informed the Captâ€™n.â€

â€œAye, Sir,â€ Malcolm dutifully replied. He put a slightly provocative accent on the last word, purposefully trying to get a rise out of the man, but it got no response. Just a few weeks ago calling Trip Sir would have earned him a glare and a teasing remark. Malcolm pursed his lips; then pushed to his feet and exited the vessel without another word.

Walking along the corridor towards the turbo lift, he felt the knot of tension in the pit of his stomach tighten. He always did experience a certain amount of anxiety prior to a mission, but this time it was different. This time, if he were honest with himself, it wasnâ€™t so much the mission that made him nervous, it was the man he was to carry it out with; he didnâ€™t feel overly comfortable going on a mission with Trip. Trip had been through a lot, and even though his physical and psychological integrity had been certified by Phlox, Malcolm wondered if it was a good idea to employ him doing anything other than caring for his beloved engines, just yet. His arm may have healed, but as for his heart, that was another matter. 

â€œMalcolm!â€

The voice made him stop and turn. Seeing Hoshi there, he allowed her to catch up with him. 

â€œIâ€™ve updated a couple of UTs with the latest data available,â€ the Comm. Officer said, handing him the devices.

â€œThank you,â€ Malcolm replied, his voice coming out a bit flatter than he had intended.

Hoshi immediately frowned. â€œWhatâ€™s the problem?â€

â€œProblem? No problem.â€ Lowering his eyes, Malcolm turned the UTs in his hands, well aware of Hoshiâ€™s dark and assessing gaze. â€œJust feeling the pressure of the coming mission.â€ Putting on a smile that he knew was not reaching his eyes, he lifted his gaze again. â€œNothing out of the ordinary.â€

â€œTake care of yourselves,â€ Hoshi said almost as a warning. 

â€œAlways.â€ 

Malcolm lost himself for a moment in the Ensignâ€™s expressive features. â€œI must go,â€ he then said, feeling his smile fade. â€œGot to find Captain Archer.â€

Â§Â§Â§

â€œLieutenant.â€ Archer glanced up from his monitor. â€œCome in, Iâ€™ll be with you in a minute.â€

With a sharp nod Malcolm stepped inside the ready room, letting the door swish closed, and stood at parade rest. Automatically, he fixed his gaze straight ahead, but after a while it strayed to his Captain. The man had a concentrated expression on his face and he was suddenly reminded of the Jonathan Archer who had summoned him for a job interview in a San Francisco Starfleet office, more than four years before. That time too Archer had been absorbed in something and made him wait a few moments. That time too there had been a knot in his gut, though one of anticipation. But those two people were gone, replaced by these here now. So many things had changed in himself in four years; and as for the man sitting at the desk, he too was quite a different person.

â€œAll set to go?â€ Archer asked, finally lifting his eyes to give him his full attention. 

At the beginning of their mission the question would have been spoken in a determined if tense tone of voice but by lips shaped into a smile; the frown that creased his Captainâ€™s brow now revealed a much less outgoing, more concerned, approach.

â€œYes, Sir,â€ Malcolm replied, his voice once again betraying rather more than he would have wanted. Talk of changes: when had he become so inept at hiding his feelings? His face muscles clenched. â€œWe shall depart in about twenty minutes.â€

The green gaze gradually bore into him as Archerâ€™s eyes narrowed. The Captain got up and leaned back against the edge of the desk. â€œWhat is it?â€ he asked directly. 

Malcolm stretched his neck uncomfortably, tightening his lips. It was stupid to bring this up now. He should have done so before, when he had first learnt of the mission and of the fact that Trip would be assigned to it. He had wanted to voice his concerns directly to the Engineer; but the man had been keeping him â€“ like everybody else â€“ at armâ€™s length. And going to the Captainâ€¦ that would have looked like he was acting behind Tripâ€™s back. 

Well, now he was here and it was too late to deny the truth. Archer was too attuned to his senior officerâ€™s feelings to have any chance of successfully lying to him. Besides, he had lied to him once, and it hadnâ€™t been fun. He wasnâ€™t going to hurt them both like that again.

â€œLieutenant?â€

â€œI amâ€¦ slightly concerned about Commander Tucker, Sir,â€ Malcolm said, forcing himself to hold his C.O.â€™s probing eyes.

Archerâ€™s mobile features immediately reflected his soul, becoming almost pained, and Malcolm felt compelled to shift his gaze away; but after a moment he felt equally compelled to return it to the other man. 

â€œI am just wondering if he doesnâ€™t need more time to recover fromâ€¦ his loss, before getting involved in a mission of this sort, Captain,â€ he added, finally making a clean breast. 

Archerâ€™s brow furrowed. â€œAre you saying youâ€™re worried he might not be up to it?â€

Malcolm swallowed uncomfortably. â€œWe donâ€™t know how dangerous this mission might prove, andâ€¦â€ He faltered. Briefly closing his eyes, he admitted hoarsely, â€œI donâ€™t quite know what Iâ€™m saying, Sir. Itâ€™s just thatâ€¦ the Commander hasnâ€™t been himself since his daughterâ€™s death.â€ He studied Archer for a reaction to his words.

Heaving a breath, the Captain broke eye contact and went to the porthole. He raised an arm and propped it against the bulkhead, leaning his forehead on it and looking down at the planet they were orbiting.

â€œTripâ€™s been through a lot,â€ he said thoughtfully. â€œItâ€™s only natural he wouldnâ€™t be the same as before.â€ He paused. â€œBut the Doctor has declared him fit for duty. I canâ€™t disregard that. I would wrong him if I did; besides, I think the best thing for him right now is to live as normal a life as possible. That includes going on away missions, even dangerous ones.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry, Captain,â€ Malcolm muttered, feeling torn. â€œYou are probably right.â€

â€œProbably?â€ Archer turned to face him again. â€œMalcolm, if you are not comfortable going on a mission with Trip, I want to know it.â€ 

Malcolm felt his knot tighten some more. On what grounds could he ask his Captain to keep Trip on Enterprise? A vague feeling of unease? What right had he to burden his friend with yet more troubles? For Trip would undoubtedly suffer if Archer revoked his assignment to this mission at the last moment.

â€œNo, Sir. Itâ€™s fine,â€ he replied firmly, holding the green eyes. 

Archer studied him for another long moment; then nodded. â€œBe careful down there, Lieutenant.â€

Some things, even after four years, had not changed an iota: namely Archerâ€™s fatherly concern for his crew.

â€œYes, Sir,â€ Malcolm replied. Forcing a smile, he added, â€œTrust me, Captain, Iâ€™m planning on bringing us back in one piece.â€ 

Â§ 2 Â§

The shuttlepod dropped from Enterpriseâ€™s belly into the dark embrace, giving its passengers that moment of weightlessness which invariably made Malcolmâ€™s stomach churn. 

Shrouded in its characteristically veiled atmosphere, the planet loomed large and bright in front of them, a magnetising view. Malcolm kept his gaze on the milky sphere till his stomach settled again; then turned his attention to his console.

â€œShuttlepod Two to the Bridge,â€ Trip said, his fingers tapping away at the commands.

â€œArcher.â€

â€œWe are on our way, Captâ€™n. Be crossing the thermo barrier in approximately seventeen minutes.â€

â€œAcknowledged.â€ There was a pause. â€œGood luck.â€

Out of the corner of his eye Malcolm saw Trip partially turn to shoot him a look, and shifted his eyes to meet it. â€œThanks,â€ the Engineer said, lifting his eyebrows. 

For a moment Malcolm felt the old Trip was back. Then the man cut the communication, both with the Bridge and with him, turning back to his instrument panel and returning to the quiet mood that made him such a different man these days. 

Malcolm licked his lips to steady himself. â€œThis place weâ€™re going to â€“ Troxia,â€ he said casually. â€œI trust youâ€™ve read what the Vulcan database says about it and the lovely people who inhabit it.â€

â€œYeah, I did my homework, donâ€™t worry,â€ was the wry reply. 

â€œCorrupt, deceitful, ready to turn a blind eye on shady dealings and suspicious characters,â€ Malcolm continued, ignoring his friendâ€™s tone. He let out a mirthless huff. â€œIndeed, just the place where someone might try to sell stolen Warp Engine blueprints.â€

â€œWe donâ€™t even know for sure that anyone will,â€ Trip muttered. â€œWhatever Soval might claim, the Vulcans donâ€™t really have anythinâ€™ specific in their hands.â€

Malcolm bit his lip. What Trip was saying was true. Vulcan Intelligence had no real evidence that the stolen Starfleet blueprints of the Warp-6 Engine under development had found their way to this planet. What they had passed on to Starfleet Command were only inklings. And his own Section 31 contact, Harris, hadnâ€™t been able â€“ or perhaps hadnâ€™t wanted â€“ to be of any help. But underestimating the mission and lowering their guard was only going to make things more dangerous. 

â€œCertainly the fact that one needs a scanner to tell a Human from a Troxian would make the place appealing to a criminal from Earth who wanted to carry out illicit business,â€ he replied thoughtfully. â€œIn any case, weâ€™ll be wise to watch our backs.â€ 

There was no reaction and Malcolm frowned. Trip was so damn detached these days. Numb, perhaps, was the better word. 

â€œAre you all right?â€ he heard himself asking, tentatively. Where that had come from, he didnâ€™t know. Or rather, he did: his guilty subconscious. He silently kicked himself. He had had weeks to ask that question. This wasnâ€™t exactly the right place and moment to be enquiring after Tripâ€™s well-being.

Half-turning again, Trip shot him a look. â€œSure,â€ he said quietly, a hint of something entering his voice. â€œDonâ€™t need to worry about me, Malcolm.â€

Perhaps it was the unexpected warmth in his friendâ€™s voice; but Malcolm felt a sudden surge of feeling, which overflowed in an unplanned confession. â€œIâ€¦ havenâ€™t really been there for you these weeks,â€ he said, the words spilling out haltingly. â€œI am sorry. But Iâ€¦ well; you probably needed some room.â€ 

Tripâ€™s back stiffened. â€œItâ€™s ok. There is nothinâ€™ anyone could do,â€ he replied, raw pain filtering through the tense words. â€œNo point wastinâ€™ time talking.â€

Malcolmâ€™s heart clenched. This wasnâ€™t Trip; not the Trip who had gradually taught him to confide in friends. But then again, Trip had a way of dealing with grief that went against his own teachings, he mulled, remembering his friendâ€™s reaction to the death of his sister. â€œKeeping things inside can hurt,â€ he said. This was ridiculous â€“ Trip having to be told something like that, and by none less than himself. â€œOnce weâ€™re back, if you everâ€¦â€ 

â€œSend me those landinâ€™ coordinates, Lieutenant,â€ Trip cut him off sharply â€“ in more than one way. â€œWeâ€™re approachinâ€™ the thermo barrier.â€

Malcolm heaved an inner sigh. â€œAye, Sir.â€

Â§Â§Â§

Archer sat at his desk with his elbows propped up and his face buried in his hands. 

Iâ€™m sorry, Captain. You are probably right. Probably right...

Malcolmâ€™s words were still going through his mind, taunting him. He considered himself a good Captain; a competent Officer who was able to make difficult decisions even when they involved a certain amount of risk for his crew. He still believed it, just as he still believed Trip ought to be on that away mission. He needed him there. But he couldnâ€™t shrug off the unease of knowing that, despite his final assurance, Malcolm had had qualms about that decision. The Lieutenantâ€™s loyalty to Trip had certainly convinced him against making a case out of his doubts. 

There was a chirp. Archer let his hands drop from his face and opened a channel to the Bridge. â€œYes.â€

â€œI have Admiral Gardner, Sir,â€ Hoshiâ€™s voice said.

â€œThank you, Ensign. Put him through.â€ 

Squaring his shoulders, Archer met rather tired-looking eyes staring back from his monitor. 

â€œAdmiral. I wasnâ€™t expecting to hear from you so soon.â€

â€œSoval has contacted me once more,â€ Gardner came straight out, â€œIt appears Vulcan Intelligence might have gathered another piece of information.â€ The admiral looked Archer in the eye and sighed. â€œNot that itâ€™s one hundred percent certain, mind you. Just like the rest. But Soval seemed inclined to give it credit.â€

â€œWhat kind of information?â€ 

â€œA species in the quadrant is rumoured to be looking for a shortcut to a higher warp factor than the 4.0 they have achieved so far. They may be close to entering a conflict with a neighbouring planet and want the advantage.â€

â€œI see,â€ Archer commented pensively. â€œWho are they?â€

â€œFendeâ€¦â€ Gardner glanced at a paper in front of him. â€œFe-ren-dellians. Youâ€™ll find them in the Vulcan database.â€

Archer nodded. â€œAny progress on discovering who stole the blueprints?â€

â€œNo.â€ Gardner pursed his lips. â€œWe are still passing all those who worked on the Warp 6 project through the sieve.â€

â€œWhy would someone want to sell â€“ or buy, for that matter â€“ a partially developed engine?â€ Archer wondered.

Gardner lowered his gaze. â€œFor one the W6 is a further development of your fatherâ€™s engine; its blueprints contain a lot of information on its predecessor,â€ he said, lifting his eyes again. â€œA good engineer would be able to extract that. Andâ€¦â€ He hesitated a moment. â€œThis is confidential, Jonathan, but the W6 is at a very advanced stage. Ready to be tested, in fact.â€

Archer let out a low whistle. â€œI didnâ€™t realiseâ€¦â€ he began.

â€œNot many people do,â€ Gardner cut him off. â€œAs I say, itâ€™s confidential information. Keep it to yourself.â€

â€œAye, Sir,â€ Archer replied, regaining his composure. 

â€œHave Tucker and Reed left yet?â€

Archer suppressed a grimace of concern. â€œYes, Admiral. About twenty minutes ago.â€

There was a pause.

â€œKeep me informed,â€ Gardner finally said, before signing off.

Archer watched the Starfleet logo on his monitor for a moment; then blew out a slow breath and pressed the comm. link open. 

â€œTâ€™Pol, could you please join me?â€

Â§Â§Â§

It had been ridiculously easy. Malcolm smirked, pleased yet annoyed â€“ as any Security Officer worthy of that title should â€“ that no one had bothered to ask them so much as their names. They had settled the pod down in a landing area where vessels of different sizes and shapes were parked, locked it, and walked away without a question from air traffic controllers, authorities or the areaâ€™s personnel. 

â€œWonderful place,â€ Malcolm muttered sarcastically under his breath as they went through a low, airport-like building. â€œA paradise for smugglers. Anyone can get in â€“ and, I suppose, out. No questions asked.â€ 

â€œWhat are you complaininâ€™ about?â€ Trip murmured back. â€œWould you rather they threw us against a wall and searched us?â€ His hand rested briefly though meaningfully on the phase pistol hidden under his sweatshirt.

Malcolm shot Trip a warning look; then returned to visually scan their surroundings. Troxians were, indeed, uncannily human-like. A bit on the tall side, which made him slightly self-conscious; but on the other hand, from what he could see, blond heads were scarce. 

â€œLooks like our choice of clothinâ€™ was ok,â€ Trip mumbled. 

Dark colours seemed to be the fashion, making Malcolmâ€™s black jeans and leather jacket, and Tripâ€™s grey pants and brown bomber jacket the perfect camouflage. 

â€œYes. Tâ€™Polâ€™s information was correct,â€ Malcolm absentmindedly replied. The name had hardly left his lips that he sensed Trip tense up beside him. 

Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek. He might have not been there for Trip in the past few weeks, but neither, he knew, had Tâ€™Pol. The Vulcan Officerâ€™s way of grieving had taken the form of lonely meditation; and on duty she had almost returned to be the Tâ€™Pol of their early days. Malcolm had watched helplessly as Trip had suffered first the loss of his daughter, and then the loss of the woman he loved. Or he thought he loved. The relationship between the two had never been very clear. Well, so much more the reason to have been there for him.

They came to the buildingâ€™s exit, and with a couple of quick steps Malcolm preceded his friend to it. 

â€œThe joint where the deal is supposed to take place is miles from here, Lieutenant,â€ Trip said dryly. â€œAnd who exactly are you goinâ€™ to protect us from? We have no clue what they look like.â€

Malcolm stepped outside and scanned their surroundings. â€œMy eye is trained to catch things youâ€™d overlook, Commander,â€ he replied. â€œLet me do my job.â€

Trip came up beside him. â€œCould at least have chosen a planet with better weather,â€ he ranted. â€œCloudy eight days out of ten is not my favourite climate.â€

Malcolm let his mouth curve up in a wry smile. â€œYouâ€™d think people leaving under such overcast conditions would make their society a bit more colourful,â€ he commented. 

It was drizzling rain; a very fine sprinkle. The sky was grey, the people were grey, buildings were grey. It made for a depressing sight.

Trip took out a padd and switched it on. â€œItâ€™s that way,â€ he said, jerking his chin in the right direction. â€œAbout four miles. A bit of a walk.â€

â€œWe donâ€™t have much choice in the matter, unless you know what public transportation to use, or want to steal one of those hovering vehicles and try flying it without crashing it at the first bend in the road.â€

Trip sighed. â€œCome on.â€ He furrowed into his jacket and led the way, stepping onto the sidewalk. 

Â§ 3 Â§

Tâ€™Pol raised her hand to the chime and pressed. Her hand was steady, she noticed, and if it werenâ€™t an emotion she would have admitted to herself that she was pleased. Meditation had helped her; the deep, advanced level she had practised afterâ€¦ a sudden shiver shook her as the image of her baby flashed through her mind. A knot formed in her throat. Fortunately, before she could lose some of the control she was working so hard to keep these days, Archerâ€™s voice rang out, anchoring her to the present.

â€œCome in.â€

The door swished open. â€œCaptain,â€ Tâ€™Pol simply said, entering. She latched her hands behind her back and waited.

Archer slowly turned from the porthole to face her. 

Meeting his sympathetic green eyes Tâ€™Pol had to make another effort to control her features, threatened by one of those swelling waves which lately seemed to surge within her, unbidden, at the most unexpected times. This man, even more than Trip, for some reason appeared able to provoke them. It was as if his gaze could expose every secret of her soul. But perhaps not only of hers. Captain Archer led his ship and crew with his heart as much as with his intelligence. Nothing, in the emotional sphere, went by him unnoticed.

â€œTâ€™Pol,â€ he said. â€œI just spoke to Admiral Gardner.â€ Concern rang clear in his voice, and she knew this time it wasnâ€™t for her well-being. 

â€œCaptain?â€ she repeated, shaping the word into a question.

He took a step towards her. â€œI need you to dig through the Vulcan database and pull out everything you can find on a species called Ferendellians. According to Vulcan Intelligence, they might be interested in the W6 blueprints.â€

Tâ€™Pol nodded. â€œTheir name is familiar. Will there be anything else?â€ she enquired softly, when Archer kept his gaze on her. 

He looked about to say something, but then thought better of it, for with a slight frown he replied, â€œNo, that will be all, thank you. Do it quickly, though. We need to inform Trip and Malcolm.â€ 

Concern snaked through her. She nodded again and left, wondering how it was possible that her life had got to this point. She had been assigned to a Human vessel to show them the ways of logic, and here she was now, four years later, almost having to re-learn the Vulcan ways herself. What had happened was entirely her fault. She had wanted to explore emotions, had wandered too close to the flame and had ended up being burnt. What was worse, she had ended up hurting another person in the process. It was better for both their sake if she made every effort to return to be the Tâ€™Pol she had once been.

Â§Â§Â§

They walked for about fifteen minutes in silence, Malcolm busy trying to memorise as much as he could of their surroundings while he watched out for anything that might seem out of the ordinary. Beside him, Trip too was scanning the environment, but Malcolm could tell his friendâ€™s curious nature had asserted itself and the man was looking around less with an investigative than tourist-like eye. Despite their mission, Malcolm was almost glad about it. Perhaps - he willed himself to hope - Trip would slowly find himself again.

They had switched on their U.T.s to pick up bits of conversation as they walked along the straight boulevard â€“ judging by the hellish traffic on it one of the cityâ€™s arteries â€“ heading towards the northern suburbs. The devices, though, hadnâ€™t been put to too much use so far. People in this city didnâ€™t seem to like socialising. From what they could tell, Troxians mostly kept to themselves, hurrying along their way, absorbed in their occupations. Well, in a way it wasnâ€™t surprising: if what the Vulcan database said about them was true, people here minded their own business. In fact Trip and Malcolm hadnâ€™t been spared a glance, for which, actually, Malcolm was quite grateful.

Another ten minutes went by, and it became obvious that they had left the city centre, for the tall if rather minimalist buildings had â€“ a little abruptly, by Earth standards â€“ been replaced by smaller structures, and the traffic was less frantic. It was a good thing that the fast hovering vehicles used on this planet didnâ€™t make much noise, for there certainly were a lot of them around.

â€œNot what Iâ€™d call an upmarket part of town,â€ Malcolm commented under his breath, taking in the shabby shops and businesses, and unkempt streets. He passed a hand through his hair, combing back a few damp strands. The very fine rain was still falling, and despite their somewhat waterproof jackets, they were both getting wet. At least it wasnâ€™t cold. 

â€œA real dump.â€ 

Trip, as usual, hadnâ€™t minced his words. 

Buildings were built close to each other. Very narrow, mostly deserted alleys fanned out from the main, larger street they were walking on. People all seemed to keep to this road, as if afraid to stray from it. As a matter of fact - Malcolm cast an eye into a dirty and stinking lane on their right - he wouldnâ€™t want to have to go very far into any of the side streets. They all looked like perfect sets for a Jack-the-ripper type murder. 

â€œLet me gaze into your eyes, young man, and things will change.â€

Malcolm jerked his head back to see a thin, strange-looking man walking alongside Trip. He was of an age heâ€™d have a difficult time guessing â€“ although he didnâ€™t look old â€“ and wore a dark green tunic-like jacket and a short cylindrical hat worn low on his forehead. Malcolmâ€™s heart jumped in his chest, and he silently cursed. Where in the bloody hell had the bloke come from? 

He quickly stepped to the other side, leaving the man in the middle. â€œThank you, Sir,â€ he said in a low, determined voice, â€œBut we really have no time for this at the moment. We are running late.â€

â€œBusiness can wait â€“ a soul might not have that luxury.â€ The man turned his skinny, angular face to Malcolm, fixing piercing eyes on him. They were a strange reddish-brown colour, not unattractive, nor unkind. He tilted his head and the hint of a smile appeared on his face. 

â€œAh, an intriguing blue-grey,â€ he said mysteriously. â€œYes, indeedâ€¦â€ He turned back to the other side. â€œBut your eyesâ€¦â€ He peered into Tripâ€™s, who looked back with a frown. â€œYours are most interesting. They have the glint â€“ or rather, they have lost it.â€

â€œSir,â€ Malcolm repeated darkly, restraining himself from grabbing the man by an arm. â€œI said we have no time for this.â€ His hand went to the comforting bulge under his jumper.

The man ignored him. He had locked gaze with Trip, and no one else might as well have existed for him â€“ actually, for either man, Malcolm realised with a start. 

â€œThings will change, sorrows will pass. Let me gaze into your eyes,â€ the soothing voice repeated.

Malcolm didnâ€™t hesitate. He grabbed the manâ€™s arm and jerked him physically away from Trip. 

The Engineer stopped. A confused expression came over his face. â€œGo away,â€ he told the guy after what looked like a moment of indecision. 

The man studied him, his face still shaped, unexpectedly, into a kind expression. â€œYour heart needs healing: why will you not allow it to happen?â€

â€œLetâ€™s go,â€ Malcolm urged under his breath, touching Tripâ€™s elbow. They started walking away.

â€œThe abyss will swallow you, young man. Itâ€™s closing up on you; I saw it in your eyesâ€¦â€

Malcolm felt his friend tense up beside him and, glancing, saw a pained expression come over his face. Trip stopped and turned, forcing Malcolm to do the same.

A smile that could only be described as sad appeared on the strangerâ€™s lips. â€œYou would be very unwise to let this occasion go by,â€ he said gently.

â€œCommanderâ€¦â€ Malcolm murmured for Tripâ€™s ears only, touching his elbow again, but Trip shrugged him off and took a couple of steps back, towards the strange character. 

â€œWhat would you know about anyoneâ€™s heart?â€ he enquired darkly. 

â€œYou are not from here, are you?â€ the man replied with narrowed eyes. â€œOr you wouldnâ€™t ask.â€

Malcolm felt his muscles clench. He didnâ€™t like the question; this was getting dangerous. Even assuming the strange person was only a trickster, they couldnâ€™t afford to blow their cover and reveal the fact that they were alien to this place. Before Trip could reply, he stepped in front of him. He put a hand on the manâ€™s chest and pushed him against a wall, holding him there.

â€œWe only want you to leave us in peace,â€ he said dangerously, casting a look around. People went by, minding their own business, as if nothing were happening.

â€œAll right,â€ the man replied, raising his eyebrows. â€œItâ€™s your loss,â€ he added, shifting his gaze and refocusing it behind Malcolm. 

Malcolm felt a hand on his shoulder pulling back firmly. â€œEnough,â€ Trip said in his command tone. â€œLet him go.â€ 

Releasing his prisoner, Malcolm turned to cold blue eyes. For a couple of seconds he and Trip just stared at each other; then the manâ€™s movement, as he stepped out of the uncomfortable spot, broke the moment. They both turned to him, and he gave them a shallow bow, looking surprisingly unperturbed.

â€œI wish you to find the peace you need,â€ he murmured, looking Trip straight in the eye. Then he turned and walked away.

Malcolm swallowed what little saliva he could find in his mouth. It had all happened in no more than a minute, a minute and a half, and adrenaline was still coursing freely through his veins. He glanced at Trip, and his friend met his gaze briefly; too briefly for Malcolm to read the many layers of emotion in it. 

â€œLetâ€™s move,â€ Trip muttered. â€œWe still have a long way to go.â€ He started walking. 

Malcolm heaved a calming breath, which did nothing to undo the knot in his gut, and hurried after him.

Â§Â§Â§

Clapton filled his glass again and turned it in his hands, peering peevishly at the colourless liquid inside. â€œItâ€™s almost as innocuous as water,â€ he complained to the man sitting in front of him. 

â€œI, for one, am grateful for it,â€ the man muttered. â€œI know you too well to want a bottle of alcohol anywhere near you. I want you awake when our contact arrives.â€

â€œYou know, Sullivan,â€ Clapton commented sarcastically, wiping a sleeve across his sweaty brow, â€œYouâ€™re as dull as a grey November day. No alcohol, no women, no good food. No excitement in your life.â€

Sullivanâ€™s dark eyes didnâ€™t stop scanning the locale as he replied, unruffled, â€œPlenty of it, on the contrary. I was the one who got us this deal, remember? And my lifestyle may be a bit on the restrained side but look where yours got you: youâ€™re so overweight that just sitting still has you sweating like a pig.â€

Claptonâ€™s jaw jutted out giving the man a murderous expression. â€œMy looks are a lot healthier than yours,â€ he retorted venomously. â€œAt least I donâ€™t look like the x-ray of myself.â€ After a pause he continued, in a more subdued voice, â€œI hope this deal of yours comes through, because I already have a few plans on how to use my part of the gold.â€

â€œYes, I do hope that too.â€ Sullivan turned to the fat and rubicund face before him. â€œSo our brief but still unpleasant partnership can be dissolved.â€

A wicked smile appeared on Claptonâ€™s lips. â€œWell, too bad you didnâ€™t know anyone else who could get you a ride to this God-forsaken planet, then, huh?â€

â€œYes, it was quite unfortunate.â€ 

Sullivan leaned back in his chair. The club was emptying. They had come to it for three days, and by now he knew that people flocked out after a certain hour. He bit his lip, trying to quench his impatience. He was sure the deal would come through. It was only a matter of waiting. Indeed he was eager; especially for the moment he could give Clapton his part.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œShort and sturdy; golden complexion; straight, blondish hair; dark green eyes; tattoo-like designs on the side of their noses,â€ Tâ€™Pol recited. â€œFerendellians are said to be physically strong, quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat,â€ she continued in a voice she kept low to hide the barely perceptible waver of concern in it. â€œAll this information is not first-hand, Captain. Vulcans never made contact with this species.â€

â€œIt will have to do. Thank you. I will contact Trip and Malcolm right away.â€ 

Archer nodded his dismissal, but Tâ€™Pol didnâ€™t move. 

Whatever bond there had been between herself and Trip was no longer there; their daughterâ€™s death had affected them both deeply but in ways that were too different, and which had driven them apart. However, Tâ€™Pol wanted him to come back to the ship unharmed. Lieutenant Reed too, for that matter. She had read all there had been in the Vulcan database on the Ferendellians, including the very last footnote. And that, precisely, had contained an interesting piece of information.

â€œTâ€™Pol?â€ Archer enquired. â€œIs there anything else?â€

â€œYes, Captain, but this is only an unverified rumour: the eyesight of Ferendellians might be severely impaired by darkness. To the point that they are said to turn virtually blind. I believe you ought to mention this to Lieutenant Reed.â€ She schooled her features, which were far too mobile these days. â€œAnd to Commander Tucker,â€ she forced herself to add.

â€œI will,â€ Archer said softly. 

The tone of his voice told her that if she stayed here a moment longer he would enquire after her well-being. She appreciated his concern, but didnâ€™t want that right now. So she nodded and left, this time without waiting for his dismissal.

Â§ 4 Â§

Trip was striding purposefully ahead, his longer legs forcing Malcolm to walk at an uncomfortable pace. He hadnâ€™t said a word after that strange man had finally left, and with every step Malcolm could feel the barrier between them getting higher. Invisible but sturdier than a brick wall. Malcolm knew from experience what an invisible barrier could do to a relationship, and the last thing he wanted was for that to happen between himself and Trip. He had to do something to prevent it. Besides, he already had to worry about possible enemies; he didnâ€™t want having to worry about a friend as well.

â€œTrip,â€ he called warily, receiving a questioning side glance. â€œYou all right?â€

Trip snorted. It was a sound fraught with sarcasm. â€œTwice in the space of a few hours,â€ he commented wryly without stopping. â€œAre you concerned about me or about my ability to help you in this little mission of ours, Lieutenant?â€ His voice wavered in rhythm with his steps.

Malcolm felt his chest constrict with guilt. Trip might have a point; why was he finally asking just now? He opened his mouth to say something â€“ what exactly he didnâ€™t know â€“ but the other man beat him to it.

â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ Trip mumbled, passing a hand over his face. 

â€œNo, youâ€™re right,â€ Malcolm croaked out. Damn it, but in a way he was.

Trip caught him by an arm and stopped them abruptly, turning Malcolm to face him. â€œNo. Look, Iâ€™m sorry, ok?â€ He blinked, trying hard to hide his turmoil and failing. â€œJustâ€¦ donâ€™t ask, because I canâ€™t ---â€ Trip cut himself off, either unable or unwilling to say more.

There was an awkward pause. â€œAre we almost there?â€ Malcolm enquired, deciding a change of subject was for the best. Or perhaps cowering out of a spot he felt was too tight.

Trip heaved a breath, regaining control, and dug his hand in the pocket of his jacket, producing his padd. He switched it on and consulted it. â€œAlmost. A few more blocks.â€ 

They resumed walking, blessedly at a more normal pace. The rain had finally stopped, but grey clouds hung low, and the humidity was high. It was almost dark, and lights were coming on in the houses and on the streets.

Tripâ€™s communicator suddenly chirruped. Malcolm jerked his chin towards one of those dubious yet conveniently deserted alleys they kept passing, and they swerved into it, stopping a couple of meters inside.

â€œTucker.â€

â€œTrip, I have a possible buyer,â€ Archerâ€™s voice said. â€œA species called Ferendellians. Short, sturdy, golden skin, blond hair, tattoos on the side of their noses.â€

â€œAnother bit of info courtesy of our Vulcan friends?â€

Malcolm wondered if Tripâ€™s sarcasm was a consequence of his bitterness towards Tâ€™Pol.

â€œSoval is only trying to help, Commander,â€ Archerâ€™s voice floated back, a shade darker than before. â€œHeâ€™s under no obligation to do so. Keep that in mind.â€

Trip winced under the reproach. â€œAye, Sir.â€

â€œFerendellians are skilled fighters, so watch out. Tâ€™Pol also tells me they are said to turn virtually blind in dark conditions - mind you, thatâ€™s not verified.â€

â€œAcknowledged, Captâ€™n,â€ Trip replied, looking at Malcolm, who nodded.

â€œEverything ok?â€

Trip shot Malcolm another glance, this one slightly self-conscious. â€œYeah.â€

â€œCaptain,â€ Malcolm jumped in, â€œWe are almost at the supposed meeting place. Unless something of vital importance comes up, it would be wise to observe comm. silence.â€

â€œUnderstood.â€ There was a pause. â€œWeâ€™ll wait for word from you, then.â€

â€œAye, Sir,â€ Trip said. â€œTucker out.â€

Â§Â§Â§

Sullivan glanced at the watch. Soon the place would close. Another day had gone by without news from their supposed contact. Great. Clamping down hard on his impatience, he reminded himself that his Starfleet mole had assured him the alien would come. He only had to wait. If at least he hadnâ€™t been forced to let Clapton in on the deal, waiting would be much more bearable. The man was a real swine. But he had needed a fast and unobtrusive lift to this damn planet, and Clapton had friends in the cargo-ship business; he had obtained them a free ride in that bucket of rusty bolts thatâ€¦

Sullivanâ€™s muscles clenched as the door opened to let two men in. New faces; heâ€™d never seen them at this bar or in the neighbourhood. His hand went automatically to the hidden pouch, under his sweater, where he kept the padd. with the stolen blueprints. Just beside it, was the reassuring form of a pistol; might not be latest model, but as long as it delivered its pillsâ€¦

â€œThose two?â€ Clapton wondered.

Sullivan shifted his gaze long enough to shoot him a poisonous look. â€œKeep your voice low, you idiot.â€ He turned to study the newcomers again. â€œNo,â€ he whispered. â€œOur contact is alien. Those two look like Troxians.â€

As Troxians went, actually, one was a bit on the short side. The other was blond, which was the right colour of hair, but his complexion was pale, not golden; and he didnâ€™t have any tattoos on the side of that funny, sharp-sloping nose of his. He narrowed his eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about the two.

The short, dark-haired man climbed down the few steps of the staircase that lead into the bar, and stopped, looking around. Their eyes met briefly as the man scanned the room, and Sullivan shifted his away, trying not to do so too quickly. He turned to look out of the small windows that gave onto the street, following the two menâ€™s movements out of the corner of his eye. After a moment, they made their way to a table in the opposite corner of the room.

Something bothered him. He didnâ€™t like the way the short man had looked around. He glanced at the watch again; only half an hour now till the bar closed. 

â€œCome on,â€ he said in a low voice to his partner. â€œWeâ€™ll come back tomorrow.â€

Before the man could say anything in reply, he got up and went to pay for their drinks. Then he left the place at a studiously leisurely pace, followed by Clapton.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œWhat can I get you?â€ the barman slurred, shuffling up to Trip and Malcolmâ€™s table. 

He looked as run down as his locale, and the idea of drinking anything in this place set Malcolmâ€™s stomach roiling. 

â€œWhat dâ€™ya have?â€ Trip enquired, sliding forward in his chair. Malcolm leaned back in his and passed a hand through his damp hair. It was good to be sitting down after walking miles, mostly under the rain. 

The man looked at them as if they were, indeed, alien; then gave a sigh. â€œTe-kara, Gwa-kara, Reed-kara, Aleâ€¦?â€ He smirked. â€œUnless you guys prefer an herbal infusion...â€ Breaking into a mocking smile, he bared two rows of yellowish teeth.

â€œI would be tempted to try the Reed-karaâ€¦â€ Trip began. 

Malcolm shot him a warning look and watched as a ghost of the old Trip flashed across his friendâ€™s features. 

â€œBut I think Iâ€™ll go for a glass of Ale,â€ he concluded. 

The barman shifted his gaze to Malcolm, who nodded his assent. â€œOne for me too.â€

After the man had shuffled away, Trip let out a soft snort. â€œDidnâ€™t know your family distilled kara â€“ whatever that is,â€ he commented in a quiet voice.

Malcolm let his mouth curve up. He welcomed the teasing; anything but those long silences which didnâ€™t suit Trip in the least. While he reached for his scanner he replied just as quietly, â€œI wouldnâ€™t be surprised if some Reed distilled some liquor at some point in history. But I seriously doubt any Reed would ever want their liquor sold in such a hovel.â€ 

The place was fairly large but shabbily furnished, dimly lit and dirty. And it obviously attracted a clientele that went accordingly.

Tripâ€™s eyes made a tour of the room. â€œLooks like the ideal place for carrying out shady business,â€ he replied. 

He looked about to add something, when the barman came back with two rather large tankards, which he put down on their table with as much grace as an elephant. Malcolm hid his scanner from view.

â€œItâ€™ll be sixteen drucks,â€ the barman said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Tripâ€™s pissed-off expression came over his face. â€œWhat â€“ are you afraid weâ€™ll run out without payinâ€™?â€ 

The man, a broad-shouldered fellow, uncrossed his arms and leaned with both of his big hands on the table, looking Trip straight in the eye. â€œWouldnâ€™t be the first time,â€ he murmured darkly. â€œIâ€™ve never seen you guys before. I do not trust strangers. Itâ€™s a policy that has served me well.â€

Without shifting his gaze away from the cold eyes boring into him, Trip reached into his pocket for some bills, and Malcolm crossed his fingers that the counterfeit money wouldnâ€™t arouse the manâ€™s suspicions. 

â€œSixteen drucks,â€ Trip said deadpan, slapping two ten bills on the table.

The barman straightened up and smiled his heinous smile again. â€œIâ€™ll get you your change.â€

â€œWhy donâ€™t you keep it?â€ Trip replied mellifluously. â€œAs down payment for the next round.â€

A colourful curse of Royal Navy fashion went through Malcolmâ€™s brain. No way was he going to have a second drink in this pigsty. He wasnâ€™t even sure he wanted to taste the first one. 

â€œThe bar closes in half an hour.â€

Trip smiled. â€œWe might come back again tomorrow, provided we like your Ale.â€

The man looked at them for a moment; then shrugged. â€œAs you wish. My Aleâ€™s as good as anyone elseâ€™s.â€

No questions asked. Indeed. After he had left, Malcolm dared cast a quick look inside his tankard. â€œI hope the scanner pronounces it unfit for consumption,â€ he muttered, returning to look around. 

There was a moment of silence, as Trip got his own scanner and unobtrusively checked. â€œSorry,â€ he eventually drawled. â€œThe other good news is that it doesnâ€™t seem to contain very much alcohol.â€

â€œDo you consider that good nâ€¦â€ Malcolm cut himself off. His attention had been drawn by a couple of blokes who had suddenly got up and were leaving. He had briefly met the gaze of one of them as they had entered, and thought the man had averted his eyes a bit too abruptly.

â€œWhat is it?â€ he heard Trip enquire, voice tense.

â€œProbably nothing.â€ He switched on his scanner and pointed it in the direction of the two, but they were already stepping out. â€œTwo men just left, moments after weâ€™d arrived.â€

Trip pulled his mouth in a lopsided smirk. â€œArenâ€™t you being a bit paranoid?â€ he commented flatly. â€œThe place is about to close up. Of course customers will be leavinâ€™.â€

â€œPerhaps.â€ Malcolm unobtrusively turned his scanner around. â€œNo human biosigns,â€ he muttered.

Paranoid â€“ he mulled with an inward sigh â€“ always the same story. Wincing, he put the instrument away and picked up his tankard. He supposed heâ€™d have to drink at least a sip or two, if he didnâ€™t want to arouse suspicions. He hated to think how well they washed things in this place.

â€œDrink up, Lieutenant,â€ Trip murmured, putting his Ale down. â€œItâ€™s not that bad.â€

Â§ 5 Â§

Tâ€™Pol lit the last candle and settled herself, kneeling, in front of it. She closed her eyes and took in a deep, slow breath. Her perception of the outer world gradually dimmed, and she soon found herself in the white, cottoned surroundings that could give her so much peace. Could give her so much peace. Because lately peace, even in this dampened world, was a strenuous exercise to achieve. 

Trip was no longer there to distract her; for which she was grateful. It was one of the consequences of them having drifted apart after the death of their daughter. It made it easier for her to try and concentrate. But whenever she reduced her level of consciousness anxiety would rise within her, oppression choked her, and she had to work hard to control them and reach a stage of meditation deep enough to allow her the respite she longed for. 

She had never imagined the bond between a mother and her child could be so strong; she had never suspected she could grow so attached to an infant she had not carried in her womb, and that sheâ€™d miss her so dearly after knowing her for such a short time. Now more than ever she realised how dangerous emotions could be, and what painful wounds love could inflict. Now more than ever she longed to be a true Vulcan.

Â§Â§Â§

Leaning his head back against the wall, Trip drew his legs up and rubbed some warmth into his arms. It wasnâ€™t cold, but his clothes were still damp from the rain and he was beginning to feel a bit chilled. 

After leaving the bar, he and Malcolm had decided to spend the night in one of the side streets, from where they could keep an eye on the placeâ€™s entrance. The quarter had been deserted by then, and it had seemed like the best thing to do. Vulcan Intelligence claimed the deal was going to be made within twenty-four hours; they should not leave the bar out of sight, even during closing hours.

Trip glanced to his right at Malcolm. Hands hugging his elbows, one knee up, one leg stretched out in front, he had leaned his head back and was sleeping. Trip watched for a moment the rising and falling of his shoulders, envying his friendâ€™s state of unconsciousness. The words that strange guy had told him had sharpened the edges of his feelings again, leaving him deeply unsettled. 

He himself had insisted they take turns and each get a bit of rest. Malcolm, of course, had wanted to take first watch, but Trip had known better than to let him. The man would probably pretend to have â€˜lost track of timeâ€™ and allowed him to sleep all night. The whole crew treated him with kidâ€™s gloves these days, and it truly got on his nerves. It shouldnâ€™t, he knew. They were his friends; they were concerned about him. But he was a grown-up man. He could take care of himself. Heâ€™d deal with his grief without anyoneâ€™s help. He had survived the pain of losing his sister; heâ€™dâ€¦

Surviveâ€¦

An image of his child struggling to survive flashed through his mind and the wound in his heart suddenly felt so raw again that he had to bite his lip not to moan out in misery. 

Elizabeth, his daughter, had been small, innocent, fragile, and so beautiful. Why would anyone want to use an innocent creature in that cruel way? She had been his child, carried some of his genes. She had been her child too. She could have been a bridge between them, someone to unite them forever. Her death, on the contrary, had only pulled them apart. It had made him realise he could not spend his life loving someone who was so different from him, who pushed emotions aside. Emotions were what made him the man he was. If she could not accept them, he could not see how she could accept him. 

He had longed to cry on her shoulder, and feel her tears soak his; he had needed to share the agony of his heart with the only person who would truly know what torture it was like to lose your own flesh and blood; but she had not let him. She would not let the hurt show; she only wanted to exorcise it by clamping down on it, and he had finally come to understand how impossible it would be for him to be the life companion of someone whose goal in life was to becomeâ€¦ insensitive. 

A sob escaped him, and he realised with a start that tears were rolling down his cheeks. Tears for his sister, and his daughter; tears for a love that could not be. 

Malcolm stirred, raising his head abruptly. Damn the man and his light sleep. Just as abruptly Trip turned the other way, pretending not to have noticed, and wiped a quick sleeve over his face. 

Silence stretched, which told Trip more than words could. Well, what did he expect? Last time Malcolm had asked him if he was ok, heâ€™d bit his head off. 

â€œWhy donâ€™t you get some rest now,â€ Malcolm finally croaked out, sounding so ill at ease that for some irrational reason Trip almost bubbled into a laugh; what the hell, he was beginning to be proud of his illogical nature. â€œIâ€™ve slept more than enough,â€ Malcolm added in that deep voice of his that was so telling. 

â€œI doubt that,â€ Trip murmured. 

He clenched his jaw but tears were still streaming uncontrollably down his face and he kept it carefully averted, although he had no illusions he could hide his state from Malcolm for long. After a moment, in fact, a hand crept over his arm. 

â€œTripâ€¦â€

The word sent a wave through him, for it held a small treasure, of the kind Tâ€™Pol wanted buried deep. Trip found he could no longer shut his friend out, and turned to eyes which, despite this planetâ€™s dark, moonless night, searched his very heart. He held them for a moment, riding a silence that for once meant more than words; then let himself be pulled by a tentative yet determined arm. 

The shoulder he ended up soaking was not clad in a catsuit, but right then his overflowing soul couldnâ€™t have cared less.

Â§Â§Â§

Trip awoke with a start when something shifted under his head, and realised to his embarrassment that he was still leaning on Malcolmâ€™s shoulder. Apparently he had cried himself to sleep on it. He hadnâ€™t done something like that since he was six or seven years old, when his mother had lulled him to sleep after he hadnâ€™t made the baseball team. 

Straightening up, he rubbed his swollen eyes; then turned to cast Malcolm a rueful glance. 

Malcolm cleared his throat. â€œSorry I moved and woke you,â€ he muttered. â€œMy arm was getting numb.â€ He clenched and unclenched his hand, wincing. 

He sounded embarrassed as well. No wonder; Malcolm was not big on shows of emotion, and Trip had been surprised, if grateful, by his unexpected gesture of comfort. He must have looked like shit to drive his friend to do something like that. 

â€œNo, I am sorry,â€ he mumbled back. â€œWasnâ€™t planning of usinâ€™ ya as a pillowâ€¦â€

â€œNot a problem,â€ was the quiet reply.

Well, crying himself to sleep had only served to give him a headache. Trip gave Malcolm a fleeting smile that was as fake as they got, for he still felt so damn miserable, and asked, â€œWhat time is it?â€ He glanced towards the bar. No one was around.

â€œHalf an hour before dawn, Iâ€™d say.â€ 

Trip heaved a deep breath. He wasnâ€™t looking forward to the waiting that was still ahead of them. He wasnâ€™t in the mood for talking about his feelings, and silence would be awkward. Maybe a couple of minutesâ€™ walk would help him clear his mind.

â€œI need to stretch my legs,â€ he muttered, pushing to his feet. â€œIâ€™ll take a short walk around.â€

â€œCommander, I donâ€™t know if itâ€™s such a good idea,â€ Malcolm immediately said, the use of rank making his objection official.

Trip clenched his jaw in irritation. Like pain, it was never very far away, these days. â€œIâ€™m only taking a short stroll, Lieutenant,â€ he said, in a voice so harsh that a part of his mind wondered to whom it belonged. â€œUnless you want me to answer natureâ€™s call here in front of you?â€ he added sarcastically. 

Malcolm got up slowly and regarded him with tightly-pursed lips, looking annoyed as well. Letting his eyes grow cold, Trip held his gaze. He knew he was being a damn S.O.B., but life had given him too many kicks in the gut lately: gentleness had sunk to the very bottom of his heart, definitely out of reach.

Swallowing, Malcolm crossed his arms in front of his chest. â€œI donâ€™t like it, Trip,â€ he said cautiously. 

Trip heard his name and knew that Malcolm had used it to appeal, after the Officer, also to the friend. 

â€œIâ€™d prefer ifâ€¦â€

â€œKeep an eye on that bar, Lieutenant,â€ Trip cut him off, making sure to remind him who was in command. â€œIâ€™ll be back in a few minutes.â€ With a last meaningful, hard look, he turned his back and wandered out into the main street.

He walked for a while trying not to think. But there were far too many things about which not to think; last but not least how he had just treated a friend who had overcome his reserved nature to give him comfort. What the hell was going on with him? Heâ€™d have to apologise to Malcolm. Or maybe he wouldnâ€™t need to. Malcolm would understand. The man understood him; or so it had been up to now. 

Before Trip knew it, he had walked a long stretch, lost in his thoughts. It was when he looked up and saw that the sky was beginning to lose its ink-like blackness that he realised he had been away longer than heâ€™d intended. Cursing inwardly, he stopped in his tracks. Malcolm must be worried sick about him. He turned to hurry back, but his momentum was broken by the sight of a lonely figure a few meters away: it was the strange character theyâ€™d met the day before.

â€œI see you have not found the peace of the soul yet,â€ the man said. As earlier, his voice was soft and gentle, and mesmerising.

Trip studied him. This guy intrigued him. How had he known about his troubles? Was there really a way he could make him forget? He had to know. 

â€œWhat do you know about my â€“ anyoneâ€™s soul?â€ he asked warily.

â€œI told you. I read the eyes of people.â€ The man took a few steps and, coming to stand in front of him, peered into his eyes. Trip felt riveted to the ground. â€œAâ€¦ loss, I read a loss,â€ he said in a veiled voice. â€œAm I right?â€

Trip swallowed. â€œMore than one, actually.â€ He belatedly realised he had spoken the words aloud, but the manâ€™s gazeâ€¦ Biting his lip, he broke eye contact. Malcolm was waiting for himâ€¦ â€œIâ€™ve got to go,â€ he said, making as if to move.

â€œYes, painful losses,â€ the man spoke up in a hurry, stopping him. â€œShe - there was a she, wasnâ€™t there? She wasâ€¦ uniqueâ€¦ Yes, I can see that.â€

â€œWhat do you know about her?â€ Trip choked out.

â€œLet me help you ease the burden off your soul.â€

Trip lost himself in the guyâ€™s eyes. The voice was so soothing; the words so comfortingâ€¦ like cold water on burning skin. 

â€œCome with me...â€

The man took his hand and Trip let himself be led by the gentle touch and mellow voice. They stopped in a dark alley and the man placed his hands on the sides of his forehead and began chanting a low, droning melody. Tripâ€™s breathing almost immediately got deep and rhythmical as his eyelids sank low, too heavy for him to keep open, but his heart was beginning to feel so wonderfully light. As was his head. Trip fell with his back against the wall, strength seeping out of his body. He closed his eyes and all he knew was the comforting voice and his own lungs working in rhythm with it.

Â§ 6 Â§

Peering out from the alley into the main street, Malcolm looked it up and down in both directions, desperate to spot the familiar figure of his friend and colleague, bloody Commander Charles Tucker III. Morning had arrived, grey and overcast like the day before, and the street was getting populated with people again, but Trip was nowhere to be seen. 

He should have never let him wander off alone, Malcolm berated himself. Especially after having seen just how fragile his friend was. Passing a nervous hand through his hair, he muttered a heavy curse he kept for special occasions. This one definitely warranted it. Three quarters of an hour had passed since Trip had not-so-tactfully reminded him that he was his superior officer and could do whatever the hell he chose; decided to take a stroll in the middle of the night, on an alien planet, while on a mission; and left him alone. 

Malcolm had tried hailing him but his call had not been answered, and his guts were now in knots, concern having finally stifled the anger that had rivalled for prime position in his chest. Something must have happened, and if it came down to choosing between accomplishing his mission and looking for his friend, he knew he would have to do the first even though heâ€™d want to do the second. 

The tension in his body was beginning to make his muscles ache, so Malcolm made an effort to relax. As he leaned once again past the corner of a building to scan the main street, he considered his options. He could contact Enterprise and ask them to locate Tripâ€™s biosigns. He smirked at the idea. Another transmission. He had already risked exposing their presence on the planet when he had used his communicator to try and page Trip. Plus he would have to inform the Captain of Tripâ€™s behaviour, which he wasnâ€™t too keen on. But the Engineer might be in serious trouble, and the most important thing was to get him back alive. 

Pursing his lips, Malcolm reached for his communicator. â€œReed to Enterprise.â€

â€œLieutenant,â€ Hoshiâ€™s voice said. â€œDo you want me to page you through to the Captain? He has already left the bridge.â€

Malcolm frowned. Of course, the alpha shift had ended. Enterpriseâ€™s time was not synchronised with that of the planet. Hoshi must be working overtime. 

â€œNoâ€¦ that wonâ€™t be necessary.â€ 

Malcolm thought fast. 

â€œLook, Hoshi, Trip and I separated, and he hasnâ€™t checked in with me in a while. Can you locate his biosigns?â€ 

â€œIt could take me a long time,â€ Hoshi replied in a voice that was suddenly more serious. â€œYou are in the middle of a densely populated area, not to mention that Troxian biosigns are not all that different from Human ones.â€

â€œDo what you can,â€ Malcolm replied tersely. He had spotted the bar owner approaching, coming to open his locale. â€œBut do not contact me. I will get back to you myself, when I can. Reed out.â€

Slipping his communicator away, Malcolm watched the man unlock the bar and disappear inside it. Ten minutes later the first two clients arrived: lo and behold, they were the same two men who had abruptly left after him and Trip had arrived. Something was definitely up with those two, although it might be something entirely unrelated to the W6 blueprints. Too bad he was too far to check their biosigns.

Malcolmâ€™s stomach complained. He had not eaten in hours. Not a wise thing to go into a possible fight running low on fuel. Leaning with a shoulder against the wall, he reached for a nutrient bar and began munching on it, still keeping both the barâ€™s entrance and the street under close scrutiny. 

One hour later, a blond head appeared. Unfortunately it wasnâ€™t Tripâ€™s: its owner was short and well-built, had a golden complexion and tattoos on the sides of his nose. Malcolm stood off the wall, swallowing past a sudden tightness in his throat. The alien entered the bar, and Malcolm felt his gut clench. Time to get down to business. 

Come on, Commander, where in the bloody hell are you?

Â§Â§Â§

Hoshi was debating what to make of Malcolmâ€™s words. She had remained on the bridge past the end of her shift to run a system diagnostic because she thought she had seen a glitch, and the call had caught her by surprise. 

The thing was she had heard an edge in Malcolmâ€™s voice that she knew was concern. There was no doubt the Lieutenant had been worried about Trip; and indeed he wouldnâ€™t have asked her to find Tripâ€™s biosigns, if he hadnâ€™t been concerned about him.

Hoshi concentrated once again on her monitor, as she had for the past ten minutes, trying to identify a human among the thousands of people in the area of town where Trip and Malcolm were. It could well take her hours.

She should tell the Captain, she thought for the umpteenth time. But Hoshi had sensed that Malcolm had not wanted to speak to Archer. 

What if she did tell the Captain: would she be exposing something? She didnâ€™t want to end up having Malcolm sent to the brig again because of something she had uncovered. But her conscience would not leave her alone. So she steadied herself and reached for the comm. button.

â€œSato to Captain Archer.â€

 

Â§Â§Â§

Adrenaline was having a field day in Malcolmâ€™s bloodstream. Not that he minded. He actually welcomed the rush of it when danger loomed ahead; it got him to that state of heightened alertness that might just save his life. 

Heart thumping in his chest, he approached the bar entrance, casting a last look up and down the street. No signs of Trip. He pushed the thought of what might have happened to his friend forcefully aside and turned to the door. Right now he could do nothing for him and, most of all, could not afford to let his mind stray. 

When Malcolm took the first step inside he had to stop a moment to let his eyes get accustomed to the light - or, rather, to the lack of it. The day outside was grey, but still bright in comparison to this place. He suspected the owner liked to keep a dim atmosphere the better to let his customers carry out their dubious businesses. The day before, because they had been there at night, he had not noticed that the window glass was tinted a dark, golden yellow, which didnâ€™t allow much light to filter through. 

Quickly climbing down the few steps, Malcolm immediately spotted the Ferendellian. His suspicions had been right: he was sitting with the two men that had arrived early in the morning, at the same table the two had occupied the night before, in a far corner of the room.

â€œAll alone this morning?â€ the bar owner asked in a slightly mocking tone, from behind the counter. 

Malcolm just gave him a smile, surprised at his own acting skills considering the way he felt inside. Then he walked to a removed table from which he could keep the three under control. He sat with his shoulders to the wall and cast a quick glance around, taking in and memorising the position of the other few customers.

Once again his eyes met those of the thinner one of the two blokes from the previous night, and once again the man averted them a bit too fast. There was no doubt he was on the alert.

Malcolm shifted his seat and deliberately turned his back to the man, feigning indifference. He had moved so as to face the counter: the panel behind it was made of some slightly reflective metal. It distorted images to a certain extent, but it was good enough for keeping an eye on the trio; still better than casting glances in the manâ€™s direction and arousing his suspicions.

â€œBeansâ€™ juice, or do you prefer something stronger first thing in the morning?â€ the barman asked while coming up to him, his smile almost as yellow as the tinted windows.

â€œBeansâ€™ juice will be fine,â€ Malcolm replied with fake assurance. â€œProvided it doesnâ€™t cost more than the four drucks of credit we still have with you,â€ he added, raising his eyebrows. He had suddenly remembered the man wanted to be paid up front and he didnâ€™t need a fistfight with this troglodyte right now. â€œMy friend has all the money, and Iâ€™m not sure heâ€™ll join me this morning,â€ he explained.

The barman narrowed his eyes. â€œWhere in the grostel are you from?â€ he asked, keeping his voice unexpectedly low, as if to safeguard Malcolmâ€™s privacy, of all things. â€œEverybody on Troxia knows that a cup of beansâ€™ juice cannot cost more than two drucks at the most.â€

â€œThen I might even have two cups,â€ Malcolm replied, tilting his head and fixing the guy with eyes that didnâ€™t match his innocent tone of voice. 

The guy snorted softly. â€œI get it. No questions asked.â€ Turning serious he added, â€œBut remember: no brawls inside my bar. If you break something, Iâ€™ll break your neck.â€

Brilliant. Thatâ€™s all he needed; having to worry about the placeâ€™s owner. He probably kept a twin-barrel shotgun hidden behind the counter; like in those Westerns Trip liked so much. 

The thought of Trip sent Malcolmâ€™s anxiety spiking again, and once more he forced his friend out of his mind, and his mind back to the present.

The two blokes and the Ferendellian seemed to be in deep conversation, all three leaning forward in their chairs. Malcolm reached for his scanner, and a moment later he had more tangible evidence that if he had to risk his life it was probably for a good cause â€“ they were definitely discussing the Warp 6 project. Still, he waited, wanting to catch the three red-handed. Secretly wincing, he picked up the cup of beansâ€™ juice heâ€™d been brought â€“ a dark liquid whose similarity to coffee seemed to stop at its colour â€“ and brought it to his lips, pretending to take a sip. He hadnâ€™t even bothered to check if the drink was safe for consumption, for its smell alone would have discouraged a man stranded in the desert for a week.

Malcolm instantly knew his waiting had come to an end when a familiar-looking padd. suddenly appeared on the trioâ€™s table. He might not have a fine enough knowledge of warp theory to know exactly what heâ€™d be looking at, once it was in his hands, but he was sure he was right about what the device contained: a few too many hints pointed in the right direction. 

He had to act now, when the three were concentrated on their business and paying no attention to him. Drawing in a deep breath, Malcolm reached for his phase pistol. His hand closed around the familiar shape and he played the scene that was about to happen in his mind, as if it was a film he had already watched. A moment later, in one swift move he stood and swivelled, arms outstretched, weapon aimed at the three.

â€œHands up.â€

Â§ 7 Â§

Trip cracked his eyes open and watched as the top of a building and a section of grey sky slowly came into focus. It wasnâ€™t long before his brain had figured out that he was lying on his back in a stinking side street. He jerked his head up; then, grunting, he slowly managed to get to a sitting position, back against the wall. 

The world spun for a minute or two. When it finally stopped, Trip checked himself over: no injuries, but his counterfeit money was gone, as were his communicator, scanner, U.T. and phase pistol. Memories came rushing in, one on top of the other, and with them guilt so heavy that it made him gasp for air, stifling any emotion that might have been lingering from before. Breathing raggedly and grimacing against a budding headache, Trip pushed to his feet. If something had happened to Malcolm because of his damn stupidityâ€¦ His body reacted to the thought of its own accord, and he took off at a run, saying a fervent prayer that he might still be in time.

Trip knew things were bad when, still at a distance, he saw people running out of the bar he and Malcolm had kept under surveillance. His lungs were burning, but he willed his legs to go faster: he could hear shots being fired from a projectile weapon, by the sound of it. At least he could hope it meant Malcolm was still alive. 

As he approached the placeâ€™s door Trip gradually slowed down, finally stopping in a crouch just outside it. â€œMalcolm,â€ he shouted, finding barely enough breath in his lungs to do so. He passed a hand over his sweaty brow.

â€œWatch out, Commander,â€ Malcolmâ€™s voice shouted back after a beat. â€œOne man down; one armed in the far corner, left; and I lost sight of the Ferendellian, though I donâ€™t think heâ€™s...â€ The words were cut off abruptly by a crashing noise as of furniture being upturned, followed by sounds of fighting. 

Dammit! Malcolm had probably given away his position with that warning. Trip dared a peek. A fat man lay in a pool of blood in the middle of the room, but right now all he cared for was his friend, who was engaged in hand-to-hand with someone - the alien, but the looks of him. 

Trip cursed himself once more for letting himself be duped, which now left him without a weapon. He was about to jerk his head back to safety when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught the bar owner stand up from behind the counter, a weapon of sorts trained on the two men fighting. Trip didnâ€™t need to think twice. He jumped up and flew in, leaping down the few steps. In a flash he was on him, just in time to divert his shot to the ceiling. With a well-landed punch, he sent the man crashing against the bottles lined on the shelves behind him; then, jumping over the counter, Trip placed a couple more hard blows, and the burly man slid to the floor, unconscious.

As he picked up the barmanâ€™s weapon - it couldnâ€™t be so difficult to figure out - Trip heard Malcolm grunt. He cast a careful glance over the counter and saw his friend, on the floor, receive a hard kick to the ribs. Malcolm rolled away and took the legs from under his opponent, but he looked in trouble. Archer had told them Ferendellians were skilled fighters: it seemed no exaggeration. Reed was no beginner, but the alien was strong and seemed to be having the better of him. Trip pointed his stolen weapon; then, grimacing, lowered it again. The two were grappling now, and even if heâ€™d had a more comfortable shotâ€¦ he had never used this pistol; heâ€™d be risking too much. 

Hearing shifting on his left, Trip fired blindly in that direction; just to get the message across that no one would leave the bar without his consent. A beam of yellow light snaked out and hit a lamp, shattering it in a thousand pieces. Suddenly, Archerâ€™s voice echoed in his mind.

â€¦Tâ€™Pol also tells me they are said to turn virtually blind in dark conditions â€¦

Hell, he might not want to risk shooting at the Ferendellian for fear of injuring Malcolm, but there would be no harm in trying to give his friend an advantage by doing some target hitting.

It took him a few shots to get used to the weaponâ€™s drift, but in a few minutes Trip was making good progress in shooting the lights out, one by one. Just as he hit the last one, a shadow took off on the left, from behind an upturned table. The man who had cowered in the far corner was trying to take advantage of the sudden darkness to make his escape. Trip instinctively stood up and pointed the weapon, firing. 

Strange, his weapon had not made this much noise before.

The man tottered and Trip wondered why it was that he was swaggering as well. There was a dull pain in his chest: But he had shot first, and hit the manâ€¦ Then whyâ€¦? He took a few steps towards the light coming in from the open door, looked down at himself, and gagged: that stain on his chest â€¦ he put a hand to it and it came away wet. Tripâ€™s eyes went wide. It was getting hard to breathe. A moment later things got more than a bit hazy, and he collapsed to the floor.

Â§Â§Â§

Scampering on his hands and feet out of the way while the Ferendellian groped blindly about, Malcolm chanced upon the phase pistol that had been kicked out of his hand and blessed his luck. The red beam sliced the darkness like a bolt of lightning in the night and hit the alien squarely on one shoulder. A moment later all was silence, except for Malcolmâ€™s ragged breathing. 

There just wasnâ€™t enough air in his lungs to move a finger. Malcolm wanted to collapse in a heap, and it took a gigantic effort to pick himself up from the floor and stagger towards the fallen Ferendellian. There was no doubt that â€˜stunâ€™ worked well on this speciesâ€™ physiology, as the alien was out cold. Grimacing against the pains and aches that sliced through his body with every breath, Malcolm bent to search the alienâ€™s pockets. It wasnâ€™tâ€™ long before he had found what he was looking for: a padd. which Trip would undoubtedly find very interesting. He turned to the door, looking for his friend. What he saw made his pounding heart miss a couple of beats: a familiar form was lying on his side at the foot of the stairs. 

Malcolm managed somehow to take those few steps and drop on his knees near the fallen man, too spent and shaken to utter a sound. Breathless as he was, he felt like screaming. This couldnâ€™t be happening. With a hand that was trembling both from worry and exertion, he felt for a pulse, finding an unsteady one. He gently rolled Trip onto his back, and he fell limply. The light from the open door wasnâ€™t much, but more than enough to show Tripâ€™s heavily blood-stained front. Malcolm quickly raised Tripâ€™s sweatshirt, and bit down on his already cracked and bleeding lower lip. He hurried to place a hand over the wound, pressing down hard to try and staunch the bleeding. He was no doctor, but by the look of it there was no way the bullet could have missed the left lung. 

â€œTrip,â€ he choked out in worry and despair. To his surprise, Tripâ€™s eyes cracked open. 

â€œSorry,â€ he mumbled, in a hardly understandable wheeze.

â€œShut up, just shut up,â€ Malcolm gasped out, as he himself fought to draw enough oxygen to keep his brain working. It wasnâ€™t easy, after the hell of a fight he had just sustained. And the warm blood seeping through his fingers was threatening to make him lose his hold on the few strands of clear thinking he still had. 

â€œThat strangeâ€¦ characterâ€¦ Iâ€¦â€ Trip rasped. Unable to finish, he coughed and grimaced, blood trickling out of a corner of his mouth. 

â€œDonâ€™t talk,â€ Malcolm ordered darkly. But Tripâ€™s eyes went wide with the effort to speak instead. 

â€œNo... Heâ€¦ took advantageâ€¦ stripped me clean... So damn... stupidâ€¦â€

Malcolm clenched his jaw, hardly aware of the pain that lanced through it, and fumbled for his communicator. 

â€œReed to Enterprise.â€

â€œArcher,â€ the Captainâ€™s tense voice immediately replied.

â€œThe Commander is seriously injured. Requested his immediate transport,â€ Malcolm croaked out in one breath. The voice could not be his, it sounded too calm and he was anything but that. 

â€œStand by.â€ 

Archerâ€™s voice was equally collected.

How could they both be so bloody professional, with a friend about to... No, he wouldnâ€™t go there.

â€œWhat about you, Lieutenant?â€

Malcolm swallowed. â€œIâ€™m staying, Sir. The blueprints are retrieved, but I still have some unfinished business to attend to.â€ Before Archer could question him, he found enough breath to add, â€œThere are two humans in this room. Iâ€™m afraid they are both dead. Lock on to their biosigns and transport them out as well. Reed out.â€ 

â€œWhâ€¦ what business?â€ Trip managed to mumble.

â€œDonâ€™t talk,â€ Malcolm repeated, softly pleading this time, as he put away the communicator and placed the padd. with the W6 blueprints in Tripâ€™s hand. 

He could no longer hold Tripâ€™s pained gaze; it was hard enough to feel him struggle to breathe under the hand he kept pressed on his wound. Silently hoping his friend would understand, he shut him out, closing his eyes to the blue ones that wouldnâ€™t leave him, and fired a muttered volley of foul words. Hopefully they wouldnâ€™t be the last thing Trip heard from him, but he had to blow out some steam or his thumping heart would likely explode.

At the last moment his befuddled brain remembered that he had to remove his hand from Tripâ€™s wound and move away. Just in time: a moment later, Trip de-materialised. Malcolm turned his bloodied palm up and looked at it unblinkingly. 

It took him a moment before he found enough determination to move. Pushing with both hands on his knees, he staggered to a standing position and cast a look around. The Ferendellian was still unconscious. Well, he couldnâ€™t care less about him; let him go his own way. And heâ€™d better leave too, before the bar owner came round and made good on his promise to break his neck: right now he didnâ€™t have enough strength for another fight. He climbed the stairs, groaning as every bone in his body complained, and stepped outside, a gritty look on his face. 

He was sure he looked like hell, bloodied, bruised and dishevelled; people gave him a wide berth as they hurried on to attend their own business, barely sparing him a glance.

What a lovely place.

Â§ 8 Â§

Tâ€™Pol approached the sickbay doors with what could only be classified as apprehension. Not even her Vulcan resolve could help her quench it, but it was already better than the near panic she had experienced when Trip had been transported on board. 

She had known immediately that his injury was serious, had seen it on the Denobulan Doctorâ€™s face, usually so loath to betray his concern, as Phlox had urged his medics to carry off the gurney on which the unconscious Commander lay. Tâ€™Pol had wanted to follow him and Archer to the infirmary right away, but had been afraid of it; afraid that the circumstances and the Captainâ€™s emotions would be too much for her right now, and her control would shatter. She had exchanged what she knew was a horrified look with Archer, and watched him hurry after the group. She, instead, had gone to her quarters, to prepare herself for what might be another assault to her already weakened fortitude. But now she was here.

The sickbay doors opened and Archer came out. He must have seen her through the glass, standing still a few metres away.

â€œPhlox hasnâ€™t come out of surgery yet,â€ Archer said hoarsely. His face was a mask of concern.

Tâ€™Pol nodded silently and averted her eyes, afraid to look too long into the Captainâ€™s gaze, so apt to make her Vulcan nature wobble. 

â€œAre you ok?â€ she heard him ask, softly. 

Blinking, she heaved a deep, calming breath. â€œPlease, inform me of any news,â€ she simply replied, relieved that her voice did not waver. Turning, she scampered back to the privacy and silence of her room.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œSato to the Captain.â€

Archer stopped thumping his waterpolo ball nervously against the far wall and reached for the comm.

â€œGo ahead.â€

â€œShuttlepod Two is docking, Captain.â€

â€œThank you, Hoshi.â€ 

Dropping the ball on the bed, Archer got up abruptly and left his quarters. 

He strode to the decon chamber and flung its door open without a flicker of hesitation, only hoping heâ€™d not catch Malcolm in his skivvies - somehow he doubted the Lieutenant would appreciate help from his Captain to spread gel on his back. There were too many questions that needed answers to tiptoe around, and he just couldnâ€™t wait until Reed was declared â€˜cleanâ€™. If he ended up having to strip down and spend time in decon with his Armoury Officer, well so be it. 

Reed was dressed, blessedly. He had his back to the door but turned at the sound of it opening, and Archerâ€™s facial muscles clenched. Malcolm was filthy, bloodied and dishevelled. The one-day stubble he sported on his face did nothing to cover the bruises that covered part of it; there was a cut on his forehead which was caked with dried blood, and his lower lip was split. Not the pristine Lieutenant Malcolm Reed that he was used to seeing around the ship. 

â€œCaptain,â€ Malcolm mumbled, trying to straighten his posture, and Archer saw him wince. More bruises must be hidden from view, he realised. 

â€œAt ease, Lieutenant,â€ he hurried to say, finding his voice. 

Reed obeyed, but didnâ€™t seem to relax at all. â€œThe Commander?â€ he asked in a deep voice, boring into Archerâ€™s eyes.

Archer held the manâ€™s gaze. It looked uncharacteristically brittle. â€œSurvived surgery,â€ he replied tensely, â€œBut is still in critical condition.â€

Reed closed his eyes briefly; then blinked them open again. Archer watched the man closely, afraid to see him waver and collapse. But Reed pursed his lips and lowered his gaze, slowly beginning to empty his pockets: one phase pistol, another phase pistol; one scanner, a second one; two communicators; one U.T. 

â€œIâ€™m afraid Iâ€™ve lost a U.T., Sir,â€ he croaked out, tired grey eyes shooting up ruefully for a moment. 

Archer frowned. A lost U.T. was the least of his concerns. â€œWhat the hell happened down there, Lieutenant? Why did you and the Trip separate?â€ he enquired, keeping his voice as inflection-free as he could manage. â€œReport,â€ he added.

He had spoken the word softly but saw Reed react to its official meaning by going through the routine of trying to stand straighter and flinching, and he had to stop himself from reaching out to grab the man by an arm and lowering him forcefully onto a bench. He restrained himself at the last moment, knowing the Lieutenant wouldnâ€™t appreciate that, and waited patiently. 

There was a long pause. Malcolm averted his gaze, seemingly at a loss for words. When he finally shifted it back, he heaved a breath to speak but it caught in his throat, and he wrapped an arm around his midsection, making Archer wonder in what state the manâ€™s ribs were. As if on cue, a well-known but unnaturally subdued voice spoke.

â€œWelcome back, Lieutenant.â€ 

They both turned to Phlox, who was standing on the other side of the access hatch. 

â€œThank you,â€ Malcolm choked out.

â€œSorry I wasnâ€™t here when you docked; I wasâ€¦ occupied.â€ Phlox smirked bitterly. â€œYou havenâ€™t picked up any pathogens,â€ he continued. â€œBut I can see you are in need of my care. As youâ€™ll expect, I want to give you a thorough examination.â€

â€œIn a moment, Doctor,â€ Archer said, managing to funnel determination in a soft tone. 

Phlox looked ready to object; but sighed and tilted his head. â€œVery well. Iâ€™ll be waiting for you in sickbay, Mr. Reed.â€

The hatch closed and there was silence. Reed turned troubled eyes to Archer. 

â€œCaptain,â€ he murmured hesitantly, â€œIâ€¦â€ He looked down at his blood-stained hands, turning the surviving U.T. in them, and swallowed. â€œI swore to myself that I would not lie to you again.â€ He waited a beat before adding with a mirthless huff, â€œThat time was painful enough, for both of us.â€

Archer felt a stab through his heart. Reed had re-awakened memories he wanted buried deep. That had been the lowest point in his career, a moment so dreadful that Archer almost equated it to his fatherâ€™s death: Phlox had been abducted; Reed had betrayed his trust and Trip had insisted to be transferred off his ship, offering no explanation. He had never felt so alone and defeated in his life; a feeling of failure he definitely wanted to forget. His mouth went dry but he kept his eyes trained on Malcolm, willing him to go on. Reedâ€™s gaze grew pained, and Archer could see it wasnâ€™t physical suffering. 

â€œBut today,â€ the Lieutenant went on wearily, managing to hold his penetrating gaze, â€œI am strongly tempted to go back on that word.â€

Archer felt another stab, this one of concern. Ever since Hoshi had told him of Malcolmâ€™s strange call, he had suspected something had gone awry with Trip, and had felt a weight on his conscience for having sent the Engineer on the mission despite Reedâ€™s misgivings.

â€œTrip?â€ he asked hoarsely.

â€œYes, Sir.â€ Malcolmâ€™s legs finally gave way, and he let himself slide down on a bench. 

Archer looked at him and heaved a steadying breath. â€œI want the truth, Malcolm,â€ he said firmly. 

And Malcolm told him. He told him of a strange man and his promises; of Tripâ€™s desperate need to believe him; of his tears and of his disappearance. In a voice kept carefully level Reed told him of the fight in the bar and of Tripâ€™s timely intervention. And of how, after the Engineer had been transported on board, Malcolm had gone looking for that trickster, to retrieve all that he had stolen. He had found the man going through his enticing routine along the street where they had first met him â€“ obviously his working territory. Malcolm confessed he had felt a desire to kill him for taking advantage of the suffering of another person. In the end, heâ€™d only given him a good shake, got back their technology - whatever the man had not already sold - and left, too weary and concerned to inflict on the bastard the lesson heâ€™d deserve.

Reed finished and closed his eyes, looking exhausted but marginally relieved at having unburdened his soul. Archer, who half-way through the report had slipped to sit on the bench across from him, leaned forward and put a hand on one of his legs, and Malcolmâ€™s eyes cracked open.

â€œGet to sickbay now,â€ Archer said gently.

Malcolm didnâ€™t move. â€œAny idea who the two dead men are?â€

â€œTheyâ€™re working on it, back on Earth,â€ Archer replied, a hard expression coming over his face. â€œWe sent samples of their DNA.â€ 

â€œWhat are you going to do, Captain?â€ Malcolm enquired warily. â€œIf I may ask?â€

Archer sighed. â€œYou did warn me that you thought Trip was not ready for a dangerous mission, Malcolm,â€ he replied straightforwardly. â€œTurns out I endangered both of your lives by disagreeing.â€

Reed jerked straighter, which elicited a groan and made him scrunch his eyes closed; he re-opened them a second later and there was dismay there. â€œIn the end I said it was fine, Sir,â€ he choked out past the pain. â€œAnd the Doctor had declared the Commander fit for duty. Surely there has got to be a way in your report to show thatâ€¦â€

â€œThe responsibility for what has happened is only mine, Lieutenant,â€ Archer cut him off, squaring his shoulders and using Malcolmâ€™s rank with purpose. â€œI will not hide behind an inventive report.â€ 

Malcolm flashed him a fiery look. â€œI wasnâ€™t suggesting that you lie, Sir. And if someone is at fault that is me. I should have come to you sooner, whenâ€¦â€

â€œGet to sickbay,â€ Archer cut him off again, with gentle determination. â€œAnd thatâ€™s an order.â€

He watched Malcolm flounder; then painfully pick himself up from the bench and leave without another word.

Â§Â§Â§

Sitting on a biobed while Phlox taped his ribs, Malcolmâ€™s eyes couldnâ€™t stray from the curtain enclosing Tripâ€™s bed. 

He had abandoned his body, as if it no longer belonged to him, into the Doctorâ€™s care, for once not even bothering to look whether the man was attaching any of his creatures to it; oblivious â€“ with the help of a dose of painkiller â€“ to anything the Denobulan was doing to him. He had too much on his mind to care about how many ribs he had cracked or bruises collected. He had to find a way for them, all of them, to get out of this situation unscathed. Too many people he had grown close to risked suffering because of it. He wanted to protect them from pain, just as he protected them from hostile aliens.

â€œMr. Tucker is strong, and strong-willed, Lieutenant,â€ Phlox murmured softly as he checked his finished work. â€œI am confident he will not give up fighting.â€

Malcolm resisted the urge to heave a sigh - not a good idea with cracked ribs, even with painkiller coursing though his veins. He blinked and shifted his eyes to Phlox, trying to draw as much comfort as he could from his kind gaze. Although he had a reputation of not getting along with the shipâ€™s doctor, they both knew their skirmishes were really part of â€“ by now â€“ a well-established game. He respected the man, as, he was sure, Phlox respected him. 

â€œI may have made a mistake in evaluating the Commanderâ€™s psychological fitness,â€ Phlox suddenly said in a voice that almost cracked with emotion. â€œI apologise, Mr. Reed. You could have both been killed.â€

The confession was as heart-felt as it was unexpected. Malcolm, who, on account of Tripâ€™s actions, had actually spared the Denobulan a few uncomplimentary thoughts when down on the planet, couldnâ€™t find a trace of anger left in him. All he felt was weariness. 

â€œI am still alive, Doctor,â€ he rasped. He cleared his throat. â€œAnd so is Trip. And I wouldnâ€™t be so ready to take blame.â€ 

Indeed, if truth be told, neither Phlox nor Archer could have anticipated that they would find that strange man on their path. Because somehow Malcolm felt that despite Tripâ€™s suffering, without that enigmatic bloke his friend would have carried out his mission just fine.

Phlox sighed for them both. â€œIs the taping comfortable?â€ he asked, stepping back. â€œCan you breathe all right?â€

â€œYes, thank you.â€ 

â€œIâ€™m putting you off duty for at least one full day.â€

Malcolm rolled his eyes. â€œIâ€™m sure a good nightâ€™s sleep will be more than enough toâ€¦â€

â€œYou need rest,â€ the Doctor predictably warned, interrupting him.

Malcolm accepted his help wriggling into a sweatshirt; he re-emerged to pleading eyes. 

â€œI already have one patient to worry about, Mr. Reed.â€ 

That did it. â€œAll right, Doctor. I could probably use a day off.â€ Malcolm pushed with both hands on the bedâ€™s edge and carefully lowered himself to the floor. â€œWould you call me, though, if there are any changes in the Commanderâ€™s condition?â€ he asked gravely, trying not to think that a change could also be for the worse. He cast another look at the drawn curtain.

â€œOf course, Lieutenant.â€

Malcolm nodded and left. 

â€œAnd donâ€™t forget to eat something,â€ he heard Phlox call after him as he was going through the sickbay doors.

Â§ 9 Â§

It had been a long and tiring shift, but Hoshi wouldnâ€™t call this a day until she had spoken to a certain person. She knew she wouldnâ€™t be able to rest properly if she didnâ€™t.

Finally the sickbay doors opened and a form trudged out of it. It was the first glimpse Hoshi caught of Malcolm since he had docked, and it did nothing to quench the anxiety that had gripped her since that call. 

Malcolm spotted her and stopped. â€œEnsign.â€

â€œLieutenant.â€ Straightening her shoulders and her resolve, Hoshi enquired, â€œAre you all right?â€ Her eyes took in Malcolmâ€™s face and she grimaced at the stupidity of her words. â€œI mean...â€

â€œIâ€™m fine, Hoshi,â€ Malcolm replied a little self-consciously. â€œBetter than I must look, anyway,â€ he added wryly.

They started walking along the corridor. 

â€œIs there something I can do for you?â€ Malcolm asked, his voice a bit guarded. 

Hoshi felt her heart clench at the unusually mangled accent. â€œI just... wanted to say that...â€ She faltered, not knowing how to breach the subject.

Malcolm took her gently by one arm and stopped again. â€œYou did the right thing telling the Captain, Hoshi,â€ he said, his grey eyes softening. â€œForgive me if you felt I had put you in a tight spot again.â€

â€œThat wasnâ€™t what worried me,â€ Hoshi burst out, unable to hold it in any more. â€œOr rather, it was; but not for the reasons you might think. I was afraid that youâ€™d...â€ She faltered again; not something she was much used to, but when it came to Malcolm, for some reason, her linguistic skills tended to fail her.

â€œEnd up in the brig again?â€ Malcolm finished for her. The bandage on his forehead lifted with his eyebrows.

Hoshi sighed. â€œYes. I never want to see that happen again,â€ she said, shifting on her legs and hiding behind a hand. 

Malcolm took it and lowered it from her face, and his tired grey eyes bore into hers. â€œIâ€™m not planning on making a habit of that, Hoshi, I promise. Lying to the Captain that time was bloody stupid of me.â€ 

â€œI canâ€™t say I disagree with you there,â€ Hoshi commented darkly.

The corners of Malcolmâ€™s mouth started to curve up, but fell with a hiss. â€œSorry, Ensign,â€ he said, feeling his split lip, â€œYouâ€™ll have to do without my blinding smile.â€

Hoshi rolled her eyes, feeling her features relax. â€œDonâ€™t know how Iâ€™ll survive that, Lieutenant.â€ 

Â§Â§Â§

The last person Malcolm had expected to see when he answered the chime and opened the door of his quarters was the one standing outside it. His surprise was such that he just stood frozen for a moment.

â€œCommander,â€ he finally stuttered, becoming immediately aware of his state of undress.

After leaving Hoshi, he had grabbed a bite to eat and then heâ€™d headed for his room, where he had washed up as best as he could, put on a pair of shorts and prepared to drop into bed, looking forward to laying his head on the pillow and getting lost to the world. The bell, though, had rung.

â€œI apologise for the late hour,â€ Tâ€™Pol said softly, her body perceptibly tense. â€œMay I come in?â€

Malcolm was stunned into silence. In his four years on this ship Tâ€™Pol had never once shown up at his door. He opened his mouth but his voice came out only a few seconds later, as if it were out of sync with his body.

â€œBy all means,â€ he said hoarsely, moving aside. â€œIâ€¦â€ he took a few quick steps to his chair and grabbed a T-shirt, which he pulled on as hastily as his battered body allowed, trying not to grimace, â€œâ€¦wasnâ€™t expecting your visit,â€ he finished awkwardly, turning to her.

Tâ€™Pol raised her eyebrows in that endearing way of hers, and Malcolmâ€™s thoughts flew to Trip. No wonder the man had lost his head for their First Officer; no male crewman on board Enterprise ignored the charms of the Vulcan lady, and he himself had been quite taken with her at the beginning of their mission. A drunken conversation heâ€™d had with Trip that time they had been stranded on the shuttlepod flashed through his mind. Yes, he had taken notice of some of Tâ€™Polâ€™s attributes even sooner than Trip. But beauty was not everything, and he, for one, definitely looked for much more in a woman. Not that Tâ€™Pol had only looks on offerâ€¦

â€œI regret delaying your rest, Lieutenant.â€ Tâ€™Pol took a step and entered the room. The door closed behind her. â€œI will not stay long,â€ she said quietly. 

â€œItâ€™s... not a problem,â€ Malcolm stuttered. It felt utterly strange to be standing in his quarters barefoot, in shorts and T-shirt, alone with Tâ€™Pol. He felt uncomfortable, a feeling that increased when he saw her eyes travel over his injuries, rather than around his room, as he would have much preferred.

â€œI hope you have not come to acute harm.â€

Malcolm almost frowned. After serving for so long on an Earth vessel Tâ€™Pol had subtly changed, gradually becoming less stiff; even her peculiar way of expressing herself had become less... different. Now all of a sudden she seemed to have regressed to the Tâ€™Pol of old.

â€œOnly a few bruises. Iâ€™m fine,â€ he replied, gesturing for her to take a seat. She didnâ€™t move. â€œBut only because of your information about the Ferendelliansâ€™ eyesight, I might add,â€ Malcolm went on. â€œI must thank you for that. If Trip hadnâ€™t shot all the lights out things could have gone a lot differently.â€

The name brought a hint of emotion over Tâ€™Polâ€™s face, but it quickly disappeared. â€œThen I am grateful I did not disregard the small footnote on the Ferendelliansâ€™ file in the Vulcan database,â€ she replied.

â€œSo am I, believe me.â€ Malcolmâ€™s mouth twitched in a quick smirk. â€œWhat can I do for you, Commander?â€ he asked after a beat. He was exhausted, and only wanted to collapse into bed.

Tâ€™Pol took a few steps and stopped in front of him, capturing his gaze. â€œLieutenant, I wish to ask you something,â€ she said in a deep voice, â€œIs the Commanderâ€™s injury related in any way to his... state of mind?â€ she asked directly.

Malcolm swallowed. What she really wanted to know, he supposed, was if their recent falling-out had anything to do with Trip getting himself nearly killed. What a delightful question. He licked his lips. He had given Archer only a verbal report so far, and Tâ€™Pol seemed not to have been made privy to it yet.

â€œTrip had... a lot on his mind, Tâ€™Polâ€ Malcolm said carefully, deciding to forego the â€˜Commandersâ€™ and speak more like a friend than a subordinate. He supposed being so definitely out of uniform helped. â€œBut I donâ€™t think that during that fight in the bar he took unnecessary risks, if that is what you are asking.â€ He watched relief make a brief appearance over the Vulcanâ€™s features.

â€œThank you,â€ she breathed out. 

â€œDonâ€™t mention it.â€

â€œI will now let you get the sleep you undoubtedly require.â€

Malcolm smiled inwardly â€“ or, as Trip would say, â€œGet some shuteye, you look like shit.â€ How those two had got together... Perhaps it was true that opposites attracted each other.

Tâ€™Pol made to turn, and Malcolm suddenly realised how thin and frail she looked. This was another friend who had gone through a lot lately. He bit the inside of his cheek.

â€œTâ€™Polâ€¦â€ The word was out of his mouth before he could think.

She tilted her head questioningly. 

â€œHowâ€¦ are you doing?â€ he forced out. He hoped his eyes would show her what would be too long and complicated to express in words. 

A ripple of something travelled over the Vulcanâ€™s lovely face. â€œI amâ€¦ better,â€ she replied. â€œThank you.â€

â€œI was very sorry for what happened,â€ Malcolm added a little awkwardly. â€œI never said as much, butâ€¦â€

â€œYou never needed to, Lieutenant,â€ Tâ€™Pol filled in. 

Malcolm swallowed. Something was on the tip of his tongue and he didnâ€™t know if he dared say it. But he had stepped back from helping his friends a few too many times. 

â€œThis is probably none of my business,â€ he said hesitantly, â€œButâ€¦ I believe that when Trip is better it would beâ€¦ good if you talked to him.â€ He lowered his gaze. Not all Humans are like a certain Lieutenant, who likes to wage lonely wars with his feelings, he silently added. Licking his swollen lip, he raised his eyes again. â€œTrip is a warm person, and I believe he needs to know that he is not alone in his grief.â€ 

He could tell his words had left the mark on Tâ€™Polâ€™s heart even though her features were virtually impassive.

â€œI will consider your suggestion,â€ she said, holding his gaze.

Malcolm nodded; then walked her to the door. She only turned briefly to say good-night, before going gracefully on her way.

As soon as the door had closed, Malcolm staggered to his bed and lowered himself gingerly on it; then, with a groan, he collapsed on his pillow and went out like one of those lights Trip had so deftly destroyed. 

Â§Â§Â§

â€œGreg Sullivan and Tim Clapton.â€ Admiral Gardner spat the names out with ill-concealed anger. â€œSullivan was the son of the politician. Probably promised someone in Starfleet some unlikely career advancement, to get the blueprints. Clapton was a small fish. Weâ€™re not exactly sure how he entered the picture, probably just helped Sullivan get a ride to the planet through his acquaintances in the cargo business. Unfortunately we still donâ€™t know who the mole in our organization is.â€

â€œThatâ€™s not going to be easy to find out, with both men dead,â€ Archer commented.

Gardner narrowed his eyes. â€œWe were hoping to capture the people responsible for this alive... I must say I am looking forward to your report, Jon.â€ 

Archer bit his lip. â€œAnd you will get it, Sir, but I still have to get a written one myself from Lieutenant Reed. He was badly bruised and dog-tired, and the Doctor wants him off duty for a day.â€ Archer didnâ€™t flinch away from the Admiralâ€™s pinning gaze, even if he definitely wanted to avert his eyes. â€œFrom what Reed has told me,â€ he continued, â€œThe sturdier of the two men was killed by his partner when he tried to make a run for it. The other one was shot by Commander Tucker, but Tucker was using an alien weapon and had no time to figure out how to set it on â€˜stunâ€™, provided it even had such a setting.â€

â€œWhat had happened to his phase pistol?â€

â€œIt had got... misplaced.â€ Archer heaved a deep breath. â€œAdmiral, you will get a full report, just give me a little more time.â€

Gardner pursed his lips. â€œHow is Tucker?â€ he enquired.

â€œStill with us. Phlox says he has a chance.â€ Archer tried to draw hope from his own words.

â€œLetâ€™s hope so. All right, Jon, Iâ€™ll be in touch.â€

â€œAye, Sir.â€ 

Gardnerâ€™s face disappeared, to be replaced by the Starfleet logo. Archer stared at it for a long moment, before deciding that also a starship Captain was entitled to some sleep.

Â§Â§Â§

The throbbing under his hand was getting erratic, a wild rhythm that desperately tried to keep going. Malcolm knew the battle was one that was destined to be lost; he could feel Tripâ€™s blood seeping through his fingers, his pulse missing beats; he could feel the jerking as his lungs struggled to inflate. Worst of all, he could read the terror in his eyes. His own lungs began to draw air in hitching gasps, and it just wasnâ€™t fair. Malcolm let go of the wound and brought his hands to his neck. It hurt. 

His eyes opened to total darkness. The lump in his throat was more painful than his cracked ribs, and he was as out of breath as if he had just run the marathon. 

Nightmares. Brilliant. 

Malcolm lay still for a moment, fighting away a lingering sensation of despair. Then, disentangling himself from his sweat-drenched sheet, he painfully pushed to a sitting position. The effect of the painkiller must have worn off, for breathing wasnâ€™t much fun and he could feel every bruise. Perhaps thatâ€™s what had triggered the bad dream. With a careful sigh, he switched on the light and checked the time: five am. He had slept for a little over six hours. 

Twenty minutes later he was crossing the threshold of sickbay. Phlox was, as usual, up and about.

â€œLieutenant.â€ 

The Doctor took a look at him and waved him to a biobed. â€œPain or bad dreams?â€ he enquired.

Malcolmâ€™s eyebrows shot up fleetingly. â€œBoth.â€

â€œLet me give you another hypospray of painkiller.â€ 

â€œThank you,â€ Malcolm murmured a moment later, breathing more freely. His eyes sought the drawn curtain around Tripâ€™s bed. â€œAny change?â€

Phloxâ€™s mouth curved into his famous smile, and Malcolm wondered when it had suddenly turned into such a beautiful sight. 

â€œThe Commander is definitely improving. Heâ€™s breathing on his own now.â€ The Doctor jerked his head. â€œGo on, Mr. Reed. Mr. Tucker is still sedated, but a short visit will do you some good. Might even cure you of your nightmares.â€

Malcolm shot Phlox a look. He stepped over and with a hesitant hand moved a corner of the curtain aside. It was the first time he set eyes on Trip after returning to Enterprise. He looked to be simply asleep, under the sheet that covered him. His face was pale but relaxed.

â€œWhen do you think heâ€™llâ€¦â€

There was a thunderous noise and the ship suddenly shuddered under his feet, sending him off balance. A moment later lights went on tactical alert.

Malcolm regained his footing and hurried to the closest comm. link.

â€œReed to Bridge.â€

â€œSir,â€ Donna Oâ€™Neill, the shiftâ€™s CO, shouted back, â€œTwo ships. Came out of the blue and fired without warning.â€

â€œPolarise the hull plating and stand by weapons,â€ Malcolm ordered. â€œIâ€™ll be right there.â€ He flew out of sickbay as fast as his injuries allowed him.

Â§ 10 Â§

When he entered the bridge, Malcolm cast a fast look around and saw that neither the Captain nor Tâ€™Pol were there yet. No wonder, at five-thirty a.m. the alpha shift people were normally engaged in more relaxing activities. MÃ¼ller at tactical shot him a quick but bewildered look, and he was suddenly reminded that not everyone had seen his lovely new make-up yet.

Another hit rocked the ship; Malcolm staggered, having to hold on to the Captainâ€™s chair, which Oâ€™Neill had just vacated for him. 

â€œTake us out of orbit. Evasive manoeuvres,â€ Malcolm ordered Travisâ€™s replacement, taking command. Then he glanced at MÃ¼ller. â€œReturn fire.â€

Just then Archer burst onto the bridge, with Tâ€™Pol right after him. â€œRepâ€¦â€ 

â€œIncoming!â€ MÃ¼ller shouted, interrupting his Captain, seconds before the ship was rocked again. â€œDirect hit to one nacelle.â€

â€œTwo ships, Sir. Not exactly friendly,â€ Malcolm informed his C.O. He started to move towards his console, but was stopped by the collected urgency in Tâ€™Polâ€™s voice.

â€œWeâ€™re being boarded,â€ she said from the other side of the Bridge. â€œIâ€™m reading two transports on E deck. 

â€œHow many people?â€ Malcolm asked.

â€œFour biosigns, unknown.â€

â€œMalcolm,â€ Archer said tautly, and Malcolm knew that despite Doctorâ€™s orders, and even in sweatpants and T-shirt, he was officially back on duty. 

He reached for the comm. link at his station. â€œSecurity team to E deck; boarding party with four intruders, secure Engineering.â€ Grabbing a phase pistol from the bridge locker, he hurried towards the turbo lift. As he passed Archer, he met the Captainâ€™s eyes and read the usual silent warning to be careful in them. He had so hated that at the beginning of their mission; made him feel like he was not trusted to be able to carry out his duty. Now it made him feel just the opposite: valued. Strange how things could change with time. In his hurry to get off the bridge, he almost bumped smack into Hoshi, who was coming out of the turbo lift with Travis.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œThe shipsâ€™ configuration has no match in the Vulcan database,â€ Tâ€™Pol announced. 

Enterprise shuddered once more under the fire of the enemy vessels. Sparks went off behind MÃ¼ller, who flinched away from them.

â€œReturn fire!â€ Archer ordered. â€œGo to warp, Ensign,â€ he then told Travis, who had rushed to his station. He braced himself against the helm console and looked over Mayweatherâ€™s shoulder, but the man turned to him in concern.

â€œThe warp drive is offline, Captain. We only have impulse.â€

â€œTrip!â€ Archer said, pressing the comm. link. â€œKelby!â€ he corrected himself, grimacing, â€œWe could use warp drive.â€

â€œAcknowledged, Captain.â€ Kelby sounded definitely out of breath. â€œStand by; we are working as fast as we can.â€ 

Another booming shot rocked the ship.

â€œEnsign,â€ Archer took a step and grabbed the railing by the tactical station. MÃ¼llerâ€™s green eyes flashed up to him for a second, and they had the same determined look Reedâ€™s always showed in such circumstances. A moment later on the view screen two beams crossed the blackness of space, one of them hitting one of the two ships.

â€œWell done.â€

â€œThank you, Sir, but itâ€™s going to be difficult doing any serious damage, if we canâ€™t manoeuvre,â€ MÃ¼ller muttered, shaking his head.

â€œDo what you can.â€

â€œSir,â€ Travis said in surprise, â€œThey seem to be moving off.â€

â€œThey probably donâ€™t want to endanger their boarding party,â€ Tâ€™Pol commented.

Â§Â§Â§

Phase pistol first, Malcolm exited the turbo lift and, after a cautious look around, took off at a jog towards Engineering. He had a gut instinct that that was the target of the four intruders. He came to the bend in the corridor before it, and crouched against the bulkhead, peeking out. His two men were outside the hatch.

â€œReport,â€ he told them, jumping up and breaching the last meters. 

â€œTheyâ€™re inside, Sir,â€ one of them said. â€œWere already entering as we arrived.â€

â€œAll right.â€ Malcolm licked his lips, thinking fast. â€œYouâ€™re with me,â€ he told a sturdy red-head. â€œWeâ€™ll get in from the higher level access.â€ He got to a comm. link. â€œReed to McKenzie. Get down to Engineering with another MACO. Quickly.â€ He turned to the other security man. â€œLetâ€™s time ourselves.â€ He looked at his watch and before jogging off added, â€œFive minutes; and then burst in. Weâ€™ll be already there by then.â€

Â§Â§Â§

Kelby really thought working on a starship was a swell job â€“ except when they came into contact with aliens. And even less when aliens came into contact with them. That time with the Orion slaves he had behaved in such an embarrassing way that it still made him turn beet read when he thought of it, his only consolation being that he had been in good company: all the male crew, with the exception of Tucker, had gone berserk. Now he was in a corner with the rest of the Engineering crew under threat of a deadly-looking weapon. The guy holding it had appeared out of the blue with three companions, who were currently busy downloading info from as many consoles. These aliens werenâ€™t green and werenâ€™t shapely, and those tattoos on the side of their noses were definitely not as appealing as the Orion girlsâ€™... Heâ€™d better cut that train of thought and concentrate on the present.

Sorry, Captain â€“ he sighed inwardly â€“ itâ€™s going to be a while before I can give you warp drive. Provided our friends here leave us alive.

It was when he spotted Reed quietly coming onto the higher level in that crouching walk of his, that he felt the first ray of hope; the Lieutenant had a way about him that made him feel protected even in a situation like this.

Reed caught his eye and made a gesture, raising three fingers and pointing to the hatch. The message was clear: things were going to get pretty hot in there. Kelbyâ€™s relief was replaced by a shot of adrenaline, and he shifted his gaze quickly away from their Security Officer, not wanting to betray his presence. Too late. The alienâ€™s eyes narrowed; then the man turned abruptly, shooting as he did so, aiming in the rough direction where Kelby had been looking a moment before and missing Reed by inches. 

Kelby reacted without thinking â€“ if he had engaged his brain, he would have realised the red piping on his uniform didnâ€™t necessarily put him in the same category as Lieutenant Reed. He grabbed the alien from behind, wrapping an arm around his throat. They struggled for a moment or two; then he felt himself being lifted and catapulted over the manâ€™s head, and before landing with a hard thump on the deckplating he had the time to think that when he had first expressed the desire to fly this was not what he had meant. 

Â§Â§Â§

The laser beam had passed close to his ear; Malcolm had felt its heat. He aimed to fire but the alien was grappling with Kelby. He caught a good sight of their enemy and cursed: bloody Ferendellians.

The element of surprise was gone but the MACOs burst in right on time, and all hell broke lose. Now Malcolm, however, had an ace up his sleeve. He dived for the light controls and plunged Engineering into virtually total darkness; only the instrumentsâ€™ lights were left on. But before they could overpower and apprehend their confused enemies, these had dematerialised in front of their eyes.

Â§Â§Â§

â€œThe boarding party has transported out, Captain,â€ Tâ€™Pol said.

â€œThe ships are going to warp,â€ Travis echoed.

â€œMalcolm, report,â€ Archer ordered into the comm. link.

â€œThey took over Engineering, but no one was injured, Sir. Unfortunately they got away,â€ the Lieutenant promptly replied. â€œFerendellians, by the way.â€ 

Archer heard him spit out the word as if it were something that he didnâ€™t want in his mouth. 

â€œKelby, what about warp drive?â€ he enquired tautly.

â€œKelby is recovering from trying to fly without wings, Sir,â€ Malcolm said darkly. â€œHeâ€™s going to be fine, but needs a moment to re-group. Rostov is telling me one nacelle suffered damage, and itâ€™s going to be a few hours before we can go to warp.â€

Archer pursed his lips tightly. After a beat he dared ask, â€œDid they get what they came for?â€ 

Malcolmâ€™s voice held a certain amount of defeat as it floated out of the comm. link. 

â€œIâ€™m not sure they got all they came for, Captain, but they certainly got some.â€

A muttered something sounding a bit too much like a four-letter word escaped Archerâ€™s mouth. He could not remember ever having cursed in front of the Bridge crew, and he bit his lip in regret. 

â€œSee if you can figure out how much,â€ he replied hoarsely.

Â§ 11 Â§

Malcolm sat by Tripâ€™s biobed, looking unblinkingly at his friend. He was lying on a slightly raised bed, to help his breathing, and was peacefully asleep. If one ignored the bandages around his chest, one would think that he was just fine.

It had been four a.m. when Malcolm had been jerked awake by yet another one of those lovely dreams that haunted his nights lately, regularly depriving him of a few hours of sleep. Well, that ought to teach him, stubbornly refusing to go to Phlox for sedatives; if things kept going like this, soon he would have to. He had needed a friend, but the only friend whom he felt comfortable going to at such an ungodly hour of the night was in sickbay. So he had finally decided to go to him all the same. Even if Trip slept, he still felt better there than alone in his quarters. 

Trip, at least, was on the mend. He had already been awake, and had even spoken to Archer a couple of times. Phlox had shooed away all other visitors, and only this morning, probably taking pity on the sight he must be offering, had allowed Malcolm to sit by his friendâ€™s bed.

The Ferendellians had got away with a good deal of information on Enterpriseâ€™s W5 engine. The damage to the nacelle had turned out to be more serious than Kelby had anticipated, and by the time theyâ€™d had warp drive back online, the two alien shipsâ€™ trails had already dissipated. Malcolm had felt despondent ever since, and that had been two days ago. The knowledge he had done everything possible to stop them was not of much comfort: he had failed. There were no two ways about it. 

â€œCheer up, â€˜tis not my funeral yet,â€ a low but familiar drawl suddenly said, piercing his grim thoughts.

Malcolm refocused on a pair of blue eyes and a pale smile. â€œAbout time you woke up,â€ he said, mirroring Tripâ€™s expression. The corners of his mouth, though, dropped quickly as images that were half reality half nightmare flashed before his eyes, and he had to struggle with a sudden surge of emotion to add, â€œItâ€™s good to have you back.â€ 

â€œYeah.â€ Tripâ€™s eyes took in his bruises and his smile fell too. â€œDammit, Malcolmâ€¦ Iâ€™m sorry,â€ he stammered. â€œI was such an ass, andâ€¦â€ His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard.

Malcolm shook his head, wanting to say something, but Trip held up a hand, stopping him. 

â€œYou were there for me and in return I....â€ He lowered his eyes. â€œI think I wasâ€¦ re-directinâ€™ some of the hurt I suffered. Totally on the wrong person.â€ 

Silence stretched, so Malcolm felt authorised to speak. â€œI admit: I called you a few very creative names down there, Commander,â€ he said, raising his eyebrows. â€œBut not entirely for the reasons you might think.â€ His voice dropped down low. â€œI didnâ€™t know what had happened, and yet I couldnâ€™t forget our mission and come looking for you.â€

â€œSorry,â€ Trip breathed out again. â€œI meant to be gone only for a couple of minutes, but I got lost in my thoughts andâ€¦ and then that guy was there.â€

Malcolm clenched his jaw. If there was a hell, that man deserved to burn in it. â€œWhat happened?â€ he asked, an edge in his voice. A part of him wanted to know exactly what had gone on. 

Trip winced in misery.

â€œForget it,â€ Malcolm hurried to add. â€œIf you prefer not to talk about it Iâ€™ll understand.â€ 

â€œHe seemed to know so much about me, as if he could really read my eyes,â€ Trip began, ignoring his words. â€œAnd I wanted so much to believe that he could take the pain awayâ€¦â€ He paused. â€œI felt mesmerised. We went into a side street, and he put his hands to my temples, and for a moment it seemed to work. I donâ€™t know what he did to me, but I woke up later, slumped on the ground, stripped clean.â€

There was a moment of silence. 

â€œWise men flattâ€™ringâ€¦â€ Malcolm murmured thoughtfully. 

â€œWhat?â€

Malcolm heaved a sigh. â€œSomething that just came into my mind: â€˜Wise men flattâ€™ring may deceive us with their vain mysterious artâ€™,â€ he quoted. â€œâ€˜Magic charms can neâ€™er relieve us nor can heal a wounded heartâ€™.â€ He pursed his lips. â€œItâ€™s a beautiful aria by Handel.â€

â€œI should have relied on a friend not a stranger to help me,â€ Trip said regretfully. â€œInstead I pushed you and the others awayâ€¦â€

Malcolm passed a weary hand over his eyes. He felt part of the blame for what had happened. â€œYes, you did. But I didnâ€™t really go out of my way to try and get past your barriers,â€ he muttered.

There was another heavy silence and Malcolm saw Tripâ€™s eyes travel over his bruises again. â€œYou ok?â€ he asked, wincing. 

â€œFine.â€ 

Predictably, Trip shot him a sceptical look, so Malcolm added, in a fairly good impersonation of the shipâ€™s physician, â€œBruises and cracked ribs; nothing extraordinary for Mr. Reed.â€ He was glad to see his friendâ€™s face relax in a genuine smile. â€œBut only thanks to your target shooting,â€ he went on more seriously. â€œYou may have showed up a bit late, but saved my life down there; I was going to lose that fight.â€

Phlox appeared, and Malcolm bit his lip, trading a glance with Trip. He should have known the Doctor would have unobtrusively been keeping an eye on them; he just hoped he had not overheard his imitation.

â€œCommander, I think you ought to rest now,â€ the Denobulan said, checking Tripâ€™s monitors. â€œAnd you too, Lieutenant. Your shift doesnâ€™t start for another three hours. Why donâ€™t you go and lie down again; you might yet catch a little sleep.â€

â€œThree hours?â€ Trip frowned. â€œWhat time is it?â€

â€œNearly five a.m.,â€ Phlox replied. 

â€œJust give me another minute, Doc,â€ Trip asked in an pleading voice. â€œIâ€™m feelinâ€™ ok, I swear.â€ 

The Doctor rolled his eyes. â€œYou and Mr. Reed will never change. As soon as you feel slightly better, you start wanting to do as you please,â€ he complained. â€œAll right,â€ he added, walking off. â€œBut just a minute.â€ 

Trip didnâ€™t look like heâ€™d been listening to that at all; Malcolm felt again under scrutiny as his friendâ€™s gaze studied him closely, and this time he knew it wasnâ€™t because of his bruises.

â€œWhatâ€™s up, Malcolm?â€ Trip enquired. â€œâ€˜Cause somehow I doubt you had planned to pay me a visit this early in the morninâ€™.â€

Malcolm closed his eyes briefly and passed a hand through his hair. â€œI suppose feeling a friend fading away under your hand as his blood seeps through your fingers wins you a free subscription to Nightmares,â€ he said with wry sarcasm, shooting Trip a dark glance. 

Trip raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in understanding, and Malcolm smirked, knowing that was not all of it.

â€œAndâ€¦â€

â€œAnd?â€

â€œAnd as if that werenâ€™t enough, I failed the Captain, the ship, Starfleetâ€¦ whatever,â€ he continued in misery and anger. â€œA couple of days ago we were attacked and boarded by four Ferendellians, and they got away with a good deal of information on our W5 engine.â€

â€œKnowing you, Iâ€™m sure you did everything you could to prevent that,â€ Trip said, seeking his eyes.

Malcolm slumped in his chair. â€œOf course I did, but does it matter? What counts is the result.â€ 

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He shouldnâ€™t burden Trip with more worries, but it felt so good being able to unburden himself with a friend, this friendâ€¦ He had missed that. The weeks since that messy Terra Prime business and little Elizabethâ€™s death had been hard and lonely for him too. But now perhaps that time was over.

Taking as deep a breath as he dared, he pushed up, getting ready to leave. â€œIâ€™ll be fine, Trip,â€ he said, seeing concern in the blue gaze. â€œItâ€™s thatâ€¦ well, you know me. I donâ€™t take failure lightly.â€ 

â€œI think we both need to restart some of the good habits weâ€™ve recently abandoned, Lieutenant,â€ Trip said with a faint smile. â€œHabits that involve beer.â€

Malcolm felt warm relief spread through him. â€œI would like that very much,â€ he said with feeling. With a smile he added, â€œIâ€™ll let you rest, then, so you get out of here soon,â€ He made to leave but Trip stopped him.

â€œJust another thing, Malcolm,â€ he said. â€œWhen I talked to the Captâ€™nâ€¦â€ He hesitated; then seemed to find the right words. â€œIt sounded like he felt responsible for what happened down there. I was sure heâ€™d put an official reprimand on my file, but he doesnâ€™t seem to have a mind to do itâ€¦â€

Malcolm lowered his gaze to the floor. â€œIâ€™m afraid itâ€™s partly my doing,â€ he admitted after a beat. He had known sooner or later he would have had to tell Trip this; but he would have rather it had been later. â€œBefore we launched, I told Captain Archer I felt you might notâ€¦ be ready to go on a dangerous mission. He disagreed. He pressed me to tell him whether or not I felt comfortable having you with me, and I said it was fine.â€ Struggling, he met Tripâ€™s eyes again. â€œNow Archer thinks I was right; that you should have stayed on board.â€

Tripâ€™s pale and obviously drained face became troubled. 

â€œI should have come to you with my qualms in the first place, but we were hardly speaking to each otherâ€¦â€ Malcolm mumbled regretfully. He cursed himself for the umpteenth time in the last few days. It seemed that everything he did or said these days ended up hurting someone. 

â€œDo you think I shouldnâ€™t have gone?â€ Trip asked deadpan.

Malcolm didnâ€™t want to answer that question. He didnâ€™t know how to. He pursed his lips. â€œIâ€¦ I donâ€™t really know. Itâ€™s hard to think objectively andâ€¦â€

â€œLieutenant, Iâ€™d be grateful if you left now,â€ Phlox said sternly, appearing from nowhere as he often did. â€œI thought you had asked for one more minute, Commander,â€ he added with a severe look at Trip. â€œLook at you, you are exhausted.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry, Doctor,â€ Malcolm muttered. â€œIâ€™ll leave right away.â€

He silently blessed the physicianâ€™s timely appearance. He felt so confused about this whole business. He had a strange feeling he didnâ€™t have the entire picture; that something still escaped him.

â€œGet some rest; weâ€™ll talk later,â€ he told Trip, hoping this last bit of conversation wouldnâ€™t set them back again just now that the old Trip seemed to be coming back. Trip nodded silently, lost in thought, and Malcolm went away with a heavy heart.

Â§ 12 Â§

â€œAs I said, Admiral, it was a surprise attack. We never expected the Ferendellians to come and get what they wanted right on board.â€ 

Archer heard the defensive tone of his words and winced inwardly. He didnâ€™t like to find excuses, but it was the plain truth. He knew Malcolm had done all he could to prevent what had happened. But even he was only human after all.

Gardner looked thoroughly unhappy. The admiral still had no clue as to who the Starfleet traitor was, and now he had this other problem on his hands. 

â€œI still have to receive that first report, Jon,â€ he said irritably. â€œI trust Lieutenant Reed has filed his by now?â€

Archer tried not to let his feelings through. â€œYes, Sir. I apologise, but with the attack and all that followed itâ€™s been anâ€¦ eventful couple of days.â€ He winced. He was starting to sound like Tâ€™Pol. He squared his shoulders, knowing he could not delay writing the fateful report much longer. â€œIâ€™ll get down to it, I promise.â€

â€œYou do that.â€ Gardner gave him a last long and meaningful look and a nod, and cut the transmission off.

Â§Â§Â§

Hoshi reached out and put a hand on Malcolmâ€™s arm. â€œShifting it around on the plate isnâ€™t going to make your food more appetising, you know?â€

The reply she got was a grunt. She narrowed her eyes, putting on the most Klingon-like expression of her repertoire; she was getting tired of having a monolith sitting at her table. â€œWould you mind finding a more eloquent reply, Malcolm? After all, Iâ€™m a linguist.â€

That got her some attention. Malcolmâ€™s eyes shot up from his plate, startled. Then a soft blush crept up his cheeks. â€œSorryâ€¦ I apologiseâ€¦ Iâ€¦â€ 

He looked away, flustered, and Hoshi was brought back to three years before, when she had tried to find out what mysterious Lieutenant Reedâ€™s favourite food was and got them into a thoroughly embarrassing situation. She couldnâ€™t deny, though, that she found a floundering Malcolm so much more endearing than the unfaltering Armoury Officer he was most of the times. Her face softened into a smile. 

â€œApology accepted, provided you tell me whatâ€™s bothering you.â€

Malcolm shot back a glance before averting his eyes again, fixing them to a spot on the deckplating. â€œIt ought to be obvious,â€ he muttered. 

Hoshi huffed. â€œYou canâ€™t be serious, Malcolm. It was a surprise attack. There was nothing more you could have done. And you werenâ€™t even officially on duty when it happened,â€ she said, funnelling as much conviction as she could into her words.

Malcolm smirked unhappily. â€œThere is something else bothering me, actually. Itâ€™s something to do with our mission on the planet. But I donâ€™t know what it is. I just canâ€™t put my finger on it. Iâ€™ve been trying so hard. Itâ€™s there, in the back of my mind, and itâ€™s so bloody annoying not to be able to bring it to the forefrontâ€¦â€

Tentatively reaching out to touch his arm again, Hoshi waited till the grey eyes turned to her. â€œDonâ€™t torture yourself,â€ she said softly. â€œYou both came back alive.â€

â€œThank God for that,â€ Malcolm breathed out.

Hoshiâ€™s mouth twitched. â€œI know Tâ€™Pol is beautiful,â€ she commented, letting humour gleam in her eyes, â€œDidnâ€™t know she was divine, though.â€

Malcolm frowned. â€œWhat?â€

â€œIf Iâ€™m not wrong it was she who read that little footnote about the Ferendelliansâ€™ alleged blindness in poor light.â€ She shook her head. â€œSmall print that made all the difference,â€ she commented thoughtfully. â€œYouâ€™ve got to thank her, as much as God, if you came back alive.â€

â€œSmall printâ€¦â€ Malcolm repeated absently. Suddenly his eyes lit up. â€œHoshi, youâ€™re brilliant!â€ he said, shooting up from his chair. â€œA bloody genius!â€

â€œWhat have I said?â€ Hoshi enquired. But Malcolm squeezed her shoulder lightly and took off, shouting over his shoulder, â€œIâ€™ll tell you laterâ€¦â€

Â§Â§Â§

Malcolm stopped in front of Archerâ€™s quarters. It was early evening; the Captain wouldnâ€™t be asleep yet. He straightened his shoulders and raised a hand to the chime, pressing.

â€œCome,â€ a tired voice called.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm opened the door and went in.

â€œMalcolm,â€ Archer said in ill-disguised surprise. 

Archer was out of uniform, but looked far from relaxed. There were dark circles under his eyes and the water polo ball was on his bed, probably still warm from having bounced off the wall.

â€œCaptain. I hope I am not disturbing.â€

â€œNoâ€¦ of course not.â€

Malcolm bit his lip. â€œCould I have a word with you?â€ 

â€œOf course,â€ Archer repeated. â€œCome in.â€

He tried to sound welcoming, but there was exhaustion in his voice. 

â€œWhat can I do for you?â€

â€œSir, if I may askâ€¦â€ Malcolmâ€™s eyes shifted briefly away. â€œHave you sent your report on our away mission to Starfleet Command yet?â€

There was a puzzled pause. â€œIâ€™m just about to do it,â€ Archer eventually replied with a glance towards a padd. lying on his desk. He narrowed his eyes. â€œIf you are here to try and convince me again that I shouldnâ€™t take responsibility for what happened, you might as well turn on your heels, Lieutenant,â€ he added firmly. 

Malcolm felt a knot in his gut tighten. But he had come here with a purpose and would not leave without having said what he had to say.

â€œPermission to speak freely, Sir?â€

Archerâ€™s brow creased, but he nodded.

Malcolm steadied himself. â€œCaptain,â€ he said, forcing himself to relax his rigid posture and use a less official tone of voice, â€œThat man, the one who robbed Trip, was telepathic. He sensed Tripâ€™s troubles, and took advantage of them.â€

â€œHow do you know that?â€

â€œI went to re-read the small print in the file on Troxia, in the Vulcan database,â€ Malcolm said, lowering his eyes self-consciously. 

â€œGo on,â€ Archer said quietly.

â€œThere was a small foot-note that referred to another section of the database. I had meant to look that up too, but something in the Armoury required my immediate personal attention; and later there was no time.â€ 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Malcolm darted a quick glance at his Captain. Archer was looking at him, obviously waiting for him to continue.

â€œIt appears a few Troxians have retained the gift of telepathy and hypnosis,â€ he went on, â€œSomething which all of them once had but, for some unexplained reason, most individuals have lost over the centuries. By law every child at a certain age is checked, and those with the gift are marked with a black dot in the middle of their forehead.â€ Malcolm raised his eyebrows emphatically. â€œApparently some of these special people like to use their gift for illicit businesses.â€

â€œAnd that man had the dot?â€ Archer enquired.

Malcolm sighed. â€œHe did indeed; although I only saw it when I gave the bloke a good shake and his funny hat went flying off his head.â€ With a mirthless huff he added darkly, â€œAt the time it didnâ€™t mean anything to me; or I would have probably strangled the man.â€

Archer turned and took a few steps to the porthole. He stood there looking out thoughtfully. â€œThis doesnâ€™t change things, Malcolm,â€ he said eventually. â€œI still sent a troubled man on a difficult mission.â€

â€œBegging your pardon, Sir, but this changes everything,â€ Malcolm countered firmly. â€œYou didnâ€™t know about these telepathic Troxians, Captain; and I believe Commander Tucker would have carried out his mission just fine if it hadnâ€™t been for that man. I was there. I saw how he played with the Commanderâ€™s mind. All Trip can be charged with, really, was to get lost in his thoughts when he took that walk before dawn; and I wouldnâ€™t dismiss the fact that his distraction might have been a consequence of that characterâ€™s fiddling with his brain. And Trip would have been back in time, in any case, if it hadnâ€™t been for that stranger.â€ 

Malcolm impulsively took a step towards Archer, and Archer turned to face him. â€œCaptain, if anyone is responsible for anything that person is me. I didnâ€™t look that information up. Iâ€™m prepared to face any disciplinary measure you may see fit.â€

Archer narrowed his eyes. â€œYou said it yourself, Malcolm: there was no time, you had to get down to the planet. Iâ€™m not going to punish you for having no time to read a small foot-note.â€ 

Malcolm took another step towards Archer. â€œSir, Trip may have his demons, but that doesnâ€™t mean he is psychologically unsound and unfit for duty; and I doubt he would want to see you suffer for what happened on that planet,â€ he said with feeling. â€œBloody hell,â€ he added, for once not caring if his Captain heard him curse, â€œAfter the Expanse donâ€™t we all have some demons to fight?â€

Â§ Epilogue Â§

â€œThere donâ€™t seem to be many reasons for a toast,â€ Malcolm commented grimly, turning the bottle of beer listlessly in his hands. â€œCanâ€™t find any, at least.â€ His mouth curved slightly downward as he leaned back in Tripâ€™s chair. â€œThe Ferendellians got away with stolen information, Starfleet canâ€™t find the moleâ€¦â€

Malcolm cut himself off and smirked. He was being his usual pessimistic self and was setting a heavy mood, and it probably wasnâ€™t what Trip needed right now. It was the first time in weeks that they had got together for a chat and a drink, and he was spoiling itâ€¦ He raised wary eyes and was relieved to find only an enigmatic smile on Tripâ€™s face. Perhaps something of the old Trip really was back. 

â€œI can,â€ Trip said quietly. â€œFind a reason for a toast, that is.â€ His eyes flickered with that glint that Malcolm had missed so much, and which he had always thought was the visible sign of the manâ€™s brilliant mind, as much as of his outgoing nature. 

Trip raised his bottle. â€œTo knowing that no matter how hard I tried to act like a jerk, in the end what happened to me down there wasnâ€™t really my doing.â€ He shook his head lightly. â€œGod, was I glad to know that guy screwed my mind up...â€

â€œRight. Iâ€™ll toast to that,â€ Malcolm agreed with a soft huff of a laugh, raising his own beer and drinking. 

It was the evening after Trip had finally been released from sickbay, and it felt good to be here, in Tripâ€™s quarters, the two of them; like slipping into old comfortable clothes. Malcolm felt his mouth pulling into a slight upward curve. â€œActually I do have something to toast to,â€ he said, raising his eyebrows and his bottle. â€œTo restoring good old habits such as quiet evenings with a friend.â€ 

â€œYeah.â€ 

The word had been little more than a sigh. They both took another swig and fell into silence. 

Malcolm let his eyes wander over his friend. Trip was beginning to look a little better, at least on the outside. But wounds of the body were often easier to heal than wounds of the heart.

â€œHow are you doing, Trip?â€ he asked gently. And then, remembering his friendâ€™s reaction the last time he had enquired, down on the planet, he added cautiously, â€œIf you donâ€™t mind my asking.â€ 

Trip shot him a contrite look; then passed a hand through his hair, creasing his brow. â€œI amâ€¦ better,â€ he said, unknowingly echoing Tâ€™Polâ€™s words. He heaved a thoughtful breath. â€œI guess seeing death in the face makes you realise that, no matter what, life is still beautiful,â€ he murmured, eyes on his hands nursing the bottle. 

Malcolm narrowed his gaze, knowing exactly how that felt. â€œThat it does,â€ he said in a husky voice. 

â€œLosing a child must be just about the most painful thing a parent can go through,â€ Trip choked out. He heaved a steadying breath. â€œBut time heals all wounds, they say.â€ 

â€œYes, thatâ€™s what they say,â€ Malcolm agreed quietly.

Passing a hand over his face, Trip added, â€œI donâ€™t know if I ever really expected this thing between me and Tâ€™Pol to work. It went through so many ups and downs andâ€¦ we are so differentâ€¦â€ 

Malcolm saw him pick at the label on the beer bottle. Suddenly Tripâ€™s eyes came up to him, intense. 

â€œItâ€™s thatâ€¦ when I learned we had a daughter, after the initial shock â€¦ I guess I had hoped the child would bring us together for good. It didnâ€™t,â€ Trip concluded with a grimace.

â€œDo you love Tâ€™Pol?â€ Malcolm asked bluntly.

It was a difficult, possibly painful question; but he felt Trip finally needed to open up with someone. It had been obvious to the whole crew that something had been going on between him and Tâ€™Pol; but except for a few teasing remarks Malcolm had respected his friendâ€™s privacy and not pressed him about it. For Tripâ€™s own sake, perhaps that moment had come.

Trip looked at him blankly for a moment. â€œItâ€™s so damn difficult to know,â€ he breathed out. â€œI haveâ€¦ feelings for her. But when she acts the Vulcanâ€¦ she can be so irritatinâ€™.â€ He swallowed. â€œI probably wouldnâ€™t be able to live a lifetime with someone like her beside me.â€

Malcolm found nothing to reply. He had only really wanted Trip to say things out loud in the hope it would help him find some peace of mind â€“ besides, he certainly wasnâ€™t the best person to give advice on matters of the heart. Yet, as silence stretched, he found himself blurting out, â€œPerhaps you and Tâ€™Pol ought to give yourselves time. Or give time a chance to heal your hearts before you let a new feeling in. You have shared so much.â€ Seeking Tripâ€™s gaze, he added, â€œStart with friendship. You never know where that might lead.â€ 

â€œMaybe,â€ Trip mumbled, sounding doubtful.

â€œFriendship, in philosophy and in literature, is often considered a nobler sentiment than love,â€ Malcolm said, tilting his head. â€œA bond that ought to prevail over any other.â€ He saw the words sink in and make an impact. 

Trip looked up and pinned him with his gaze. â€œI wouldnâ€™t want to do without either; but certainly a lover cannot replace a true friend,â€ he said meaningfully. 

Acknowledging the hidden message with a quick smile, Malcolm watched Tripâ€™s feature marginally relax. Malcolm took another swig of beer; then, elbows on his knees, leaned forward and got lost in his own thoughts. 

Actually, he should learn to look at the cup half full, he supposed. The Captain had finally seen his point and recognised that no one could be held responsible for what had happened to Trip during their mission; the W6 blueprint had been retrieved; and Trip was recovering. Well, at least physically; although his pain seemedâ€¦ less raw. Perhaps his heart was beginning to mend as well.

They had both fallen into such a comfortable silence that the chime almost startled them. 

â€œSorry, the barâ€™s closed,â€ Trip drawled, drawing out of his abstraction and pushing slowly to his feet.

â€œAnd whatever beer is left is not for sale,â€ Malcolm added with a wicked grin.

â€œWhat if itâ€™s the Captâ€™n?â€ Trip wondered aloud, shooting him a challenging glace.

â€œAh, no.â€ Malcolm let his eyes go steely. â€œThe man canâ€™t order you to give him your beer, youâ€™re still off duty.â€ 

Tripâ€™s soft chuckle died in his throat when the door opened, revealing a thin figure clad in a red catsuit. 

â€œTâ€™Pol,â€ Trip said in hesitant surprise.

Malcolm saw the Vulcan latch her hands behind her back. â€œAm Iâ€¦ disturbing you?â€ she asked quietly.

It took Trip a moment to reply. â€œNoâ€¦ Come in.â€ He moved aside. 

â€œLieutenant.â€ Tâ€™Polâ€™s eyes lingered one brief moment on Malcolm as she came in. 

â€œCommander.â€ 

So Tâ€™Pol had followed his advice and come to talk to Trip after all. Malcolm got up, nodded, and holding the neck of his beer bottle in between second and middle finger went to the door, where Trip was still standing. â€œThanks for the company,â€ he told him in too low a voice for, hopefully, even a Vulcan to hear. â€œI had missed this.â€ 

Tripâ€™s eyes warmed and he squeezed his arm in what Malcolm thought was a silent promise that things would slowly be returning to normal. 

Malcolm strolled along the corridor, back to his quarters. Yes, wounded hearts would heal. Even broken ones, like Tripâ€™s. Even allegedly unfeeling ones, like Tâ€™Polâ€™s. With the help of friends. Despite wise men flattâ€™ring and magic charms. 

â€œMalcolm,â€ a voice called from behind him. He turned, putting a smile on his face for this particular crewmember. He owed her one from before, after all. He saw Hoshiâ€™s eyes track to his beer bottle.

â€œI see you and Trip are back on speaking termsâ€¦â€ she teased as she approached.

Malcolm straightened his shoulders, ignoring her gibe. â€œMost definitely.â€

â€œSo, are you going to tell me why I am such a bloody genius?â€ Hoshi, asked, her eyes dancing with mirth.

Malcolm allowed himself to stare into them for a moment. 

â€œMalcolm? Have you lost your tongue?â€

Blinking out of his daydreaming, Malcolm gave her a courteous bow. â€œYour beauty, my lady, leaves me speechless.â€ He suddenly felt in a lighter mood than he had in weeks. He watched Hoshi look at him with a frown and an intrigued smile on her lips and he let his own smile go warmer. â€œLet me offer you a cup of tea, Hoshi, shall we? Itâ€™s a... long story.â€


End file.
